THE  LIBRARY 


OF 


THE 


OF 


LOS 


UNIVERSITY 

CALIFORNIA 

ANGELES 


WHEN  MY  SHIP  COMES  IN, 


AND  OTHER  RHYMES  OF  CAMP 
AND  HEARTH. 


BY 

MAJOR  THEO.  J.  ECKERSON, 

UNITED    STATES   ARMY. 


CAMBRIDGE: 
at  tlje  Btocrstlie 

1881. 


Copyright,  1881, 
Bv  THEO.  J.  ECKERSON. 


All  rights  reserved. 


£'12 


PREFACE   AND    DEDICATION. 


THESE  rhymes  are  now,  at  the  request  of  friends 
whose  judgment  is  perhaps  warped  by  their  par 
tiality,  thrown  together  in  their  present  form. 
Criticism  upon  these  effusions  is  not  invited,  as  no 
poetic  merit  whatever  is  claimed  for  them.  They 
are  simply  rhymes,  jotted  down  from  time  to  time, 
and  extending  over  many  years. 

Such  as  they  are  I  dedicate  them  to 

MY  BELOVED  WIFE, 

my  constant  and  faithful  companion  in  my  journeys 
North,  South,  East,  and  West,  —  on  the  ocean,  over 
mountain  snows,  and  across  rivers  and  plains,  — 
in  the  performance  of  my  public  duties  during  the 
past  thirty-three  years. 

THEODORE  J.   ECKERSON. 

NORFOLK  HOUSE, 

BOSTON  HIGHLANDS. 

July,  1881. 


759407 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

WHEN  MY  SHIP  COMES  IN 7 

COMING  OVER  THE  BAR u 

NINETEEN  YEARS 14 

EPITHALAMIUM 17 

HOME  JOYS  AND  SORROWS 20 

THE  GOOD  MAN 24 

To  SALLIE 28 

FAREWELL  ADDRESS  —  JULIA  DEAN  HAYNE     .        .  31 

To  ADDIE 34 

EASTER  HYMN 36 

POETIC  ADDRESS  —  MASONIC 38 

GENERAL  TAYLOR,  AFTER  BUENAVISTA     ...  43 

To  MY  OLD  KNAPSACK 45 

To  THE  TORN  FLAG,  THIRD  r.  S.  INFANTRY  .        .  48 

RESACA  DE  LA  PALMA 50 

FAREWELL  TO  MEXICO 53 

To  MY  OLD  MUSKET 55 

THE  PARTING  AT  FORT  SUMTER        ....  58 

NATIONAL  HYMN     .                                ....  62 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

MISSING 64 

DECORATION  DAY  —  THE  MOTHER  .  .  .  .68 
ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MAJOR-GENERAL  FRED.  STEELE  71 
POETIC  ADDRESS  —  DECORATION  DAY,  iSSo  .  .  .  73 
DECOR VTION  DAY  —  THE  OLD  SUPERINTENDENT  OF 

NATIONAL  CEMETERY 79 

THE  VETERAN  OK  THE  MEXICAN  WAR  £5 

To  MINNIE  GRACE  100 

LINES  WITH  A  BUNCH  OF  AUTUMN  LEAVES  .  .  101 
ON  THE  DEATH  OF  PROFESSOR  S.  F.  B.  MORSE  .  .  102 

To  A  FAIR  BUT  COLD  ONE 104 

THE  NIGHT  AT  MONTEREY 107 

ON  A  CRAYON  PORTRAIT  OF  MY  YOUNGEST  DAUGHTER  in 


WHEN    MY  SHIP   COMES  IN. 


I  'VE  a  precious  little  daughter, 
.  And  her  name  is  Adelaide,  — 
No  bright  jewels  yet  I  've  bought  her, 

Though  her  nut-brown  hair  's  in  braid 
And  as  often  as  she  plagues  me 

For  a  bracelet  or  a  pin, 
I  console  her  with  the  promise, 

"  Yes,  love,  when  my  ship  comes   in  ! " 

Oh,  the  dreaming  little  daughter  ! 

In  bright  visions  of  the  night, 
Strings  of  fairest  pearls  and  bracelets 

Still  appear  before  her  sight, 
And  before  the  morning  kisses 

Or  the  morning  prayers    begin, 
"Up  she  runs  to  ask  her  father 

When  the  ship  is  coming  in. 


WHEN  MY  SHIP  COMES  IN. 

"Listen,  mother,  let  me  tell  you 

What  a  pleasant  dream  I  've  had 

Up  the  straits  came  father's  vessel, 

And  you  both  appeared  so  glad  ; 

All  the  bells  in  town  were  ringing, 

And  away  above  the  din 
I  could  read  on  floating  banners, 
•     T?ie  shi    ts  comin    in  !  ' 


"  Then  methought  a  host  of  bright  ones, 

As  the  anchor   rattled  down, 
Gathered  in  the  shrouds,  and,  cheering, 

Joined  the  huzzas  of  the  town  ; 
While  the  Captain,  smiling  sweetly, 

By  a  gesture  of  his  hand 
Had  the  sails  all  furled  so  neatly 

By  a  white-winged  angel  band  !  " 

Dream  on,  joyous  little  daughter, 

But  a  few,  short,  sunny  years, 
And  your  visions  bright  will  vanish, 

All  your  pearls  dissolve  in  tears  ; 
For  the  long-expected  vessel 

Bears  no  pearl  nor  jeweled  pin, 
Though  her  freight  of  tears  and  sadness 

Is  most  surely  coming  in. 


WHEN  MY  SHIP  COMES  IN. 

Yes,  my  trusting  little  daughter, 

Oh,  my  winsome  Adelaide, 
When  I  cross  the  troubled  water, 

And  my  last,  last  debt  is  paid, 
When  sad  faces  crowd  around  me, 

And,  with  locks  all  white  and  thin, 
1  am  laid  within  my  coffin, 

Then  my  ship  is  coming  in  ! 

Of  her  freight  of  tears  and  sorrows 

None  will  be  for  me  to  share  ; 
Mine  have  all  been  wept  and  suffered 

Through  long  years  of  grief  and  care ; 
Yours  will  be  the  cross,  my  darling, 

While  the  crown  alone  I  win  ; 
Yours  will  be  the  tears  and  anguish, 

When  my  ship  comes  sailing  in  ! 

For  my  great  Redeemer  liveth  ! 

He  who  stilled  the  raging  seas 
Steers  the  ship  that  fills  your  dreamings, 

And  controls  each  adverse  breeze; 
He  who  bore  the  cross,  my  Addie, 

To  redeem  a  world  from  sin, 
Always  smiles  to  find  us  ready 

When  the  ship  is  coming  in. 


IO  WHEN  MY  SHIP  COMES  IN. 

To  my  ear,  this  pleasant  evening, 

Sitting  here  before  the  door, 
Heavy  anchor-chains    are  rattling, 

As  my  ship  comes   near  the  shore ; 
I  can  hear  the  loose  sails  flapping, 

And  the  sailors'  merry  din, 
And  I  see  the  Captain  smiling 

As  my  ship  sails  slowly  in  ! 
June,  1 86 1. 


COMING  OVER  THE  BAR 

AT  THE   MOUTH   OF  THE   COLUMBIA   RIVER. 

I  PROMISED  to  tell  you,  my  little  star, 

Some  night  before  you  slept, 
Of  the  morn  we  sailed  in  over  the  bar, 

And  the  reason  why  I  wept 
That  day,  when  others  all  seemed  so  glad, 
And  I  in  the  state-room  sat,  so  sad. 

Was  it  that  friends  would  meet  me   there, 
Friends  who  had  known  me  long  ? 

That  cordial  smiles,  with  a  greeting  rare, 
Would  come  from  that  merry  throng  ? 

All  these,  my  sweet  one,  I  knew  were  here  — 

But  not  for  them  was  the  falling  tear. 

Away  on  Astoria's  rugged  height, 

As  the  steamship  dashed  through  the  wave, 
I  could  see  the  mound,  with  its  head-board  white, 

That  covers  your  brother's  grave ; 


12  COMING   OVER    THE  BAR. 

I  could  fancy  I  heard,  as  the  ship  came  nigh, 
The  angel  voice  of  our  first-born  boy ! 

The  wild  sea-gull  floated  swiftly  past, 

And  uttered  its  plaintive  cry ; 
The  great  bar  foamed  in  the  fiendish  blast, 

And  reared  its  white  mountains  high  ; 
But  above  them  all,  on  the  swelling   gale, 
I  could  hear  my  dead  boy's  mournful  wail. 

Swift  back  to  the  past  I  wandered  then, 

To  the  scene  of  that  stormy  day 
When  I  mournfully  followed  the  precious  one, 

And  they  lowered  him  into  the  clay. 
While  tears  were  blent  with  the  prayers  then  said, 
As  I  strewed  the  roses  over  his  bed. 

Ten  long  years  have  gone  slowly  by, 
Well  checkered  with  grief  and  joy; 

Such  tears  have  seldom  bedimmed  my  eye 
As  flowed  for  that  gentle  boy, 

When  I  gazed  once  more  on  that  lonely  grave, 

On  the  fir-crown'd  height  by  the  sounding  wave. 

Five  other  precious  ones  now  have  twined 
Their  tendrils  about  my  heart : 


COMING   OVER    THE  BAR.  13 

God  !    In  Thy  mercy  still  be  kind, 

For  oh,  't  is  so  hard  to  part ! 
Leave  me  my  loving  ones  treading  the  sod  ; 
Keep  Thou  the  little  one  gone  back  to  God ! 

Yes,  my  own  sweet  one,  my  friends  were  there,  — 

Friends  who  had  known  me  long; 
The  cordial  smile  and  the  greeting  rare 

Came  from  that  merry  throng  ; 
But  you  now  know  why,  when  all  seemed  glad, 
I  sat  in  the  state-room,  lone  and  sad. 
February  5,  1862. 


NINETEEN  YEARS. 

NINETEEN   years,    dear    Lizzie,    on    their    course 

have  run 
Since  our  vows  were  plighted,  —  vows  that  made 

us  one ; 
Oh  the  clouds,  the  sunshine  —  Oh  the  smiles,  the 

tears  — 
Oh  the  joys,  the  sorrows,  of  those  nineteen  years  ! 

Heaven   hath   kindly  lent  us,  as  our  path  we  've 

trod, 

Little  hearts  to  love  us,  little  souls  from  God  ; 
Some  still  travel  with  us  up  the  mountain  steep  : 
These  are  left  to  love  us  —  one  is  laid  to  sleep ! 

He,  our  precious  first-born,   pearl  of  all  the  rest, 
Waits  within  the  portals  of  the  ever  blest, 
Watching  for  the  coming  of  the  loved  of  earth, 
Those    who    rocked    his    cradle    ere    his    second 
birth ! 


NINETEEN  YEARS.  15 

Oh,  that  night  of  horror  when  his  spirit  fled, 
And  we  sat  despairing,  watching  with  our  dead, 
Vainly,  madly  clinging  to  our  darling  one  — 
Holding    back    the    answer,     "God!   Thy   will  be 
done!" 

Nineteen  years  have  taught  us  that  with  bleed 
ing  feet 

Thorny  paths  are  trodden,  though  the  flowers  be 
sweet ! 

Cups  of  woe  are  given  —  hours  of   deep  distress, 

Pointing  us  to  heaven,  home  of  happiness. 

Nineteen    years,    dear    Lizzie,    thus    their    course 

have  sped, — 

Do  I  love  thee  better  than  when  first  we  wed  ? 
Couldst  thou   read   this  heart,  love,  thou  wouldst 

joy  to  see 
Not  a  warm  pulsation  there  but  throbs  for  thee  ! 

When    fatigued    and    sickened    with    life's    many 

snares, 
A.h,   full  well,    thou    knowest    how    to    soothe   my 

cares  ! 

On  that  faithful  bosom  I  recline  my  head, 
All  the  world  forgetting — all  my  troubles  fled! 


1 6  NINETEEN  YEARS. 

Thou,  who   liv'st   for   others  —  thou,  who,    oft   in 

pain, 

Still  art  self-forgetting,  others'  health  to  gain  ; 
Thou,  whose  intuition,  when  I  'm  prone  to  stray, 
Sees  the  hidden  danger  —  points  the  better  way  ; 

Thou,  my  guardian  spirit  in  all  times  of  need, 
Could  I  cease  to  love  thee  I  were  lost  indeed  ! 
Could  thy  gentle  nature  for  one  moment  doubt, 
Hope   would    flee,  and    sunshine    from    our   lives 
fade  out ! 

Nineteen  years,  dear  Lizzie  !     Oh,  through  many 

more 

May  we  walk  together  to  that  better  shore, 
Where  the  thornless  roses  of  a  world  of  bliss 
Shall    make  up    in    sweetness  for    the    thorns    of 

this! 
November,  1867. 


EPITHALAMIUM. 

No    clouds    hang    o'er   thy   future,  —  thy   sky    is 

clear  and  bright, 
Yet   silent   tears   are  falling,  loved   one,  for  thee 

to-night ! 
A   father's    heart    is    swelling,  grief    mingles  with 

his  mirth,  — 
Grief,  that  so  soon  thou  leavest   the  old  familiar 

hearth  ! 

A  mother  gazes  on  thee  with  all  a  parent's  pride, 
And    pleasure    fills    her    bosom  —  she    sees    her 

girl  a  bride  ! 
But  ah  !    a  shade  of   sadness  comes  stealing  o'er 

her  brow, 
She   mournfully    remembers  one    place    is    vacant 

now  ! 

Thou,  in  her  weary  moments  hast  been  a  com 
forter  ; 

Thy  day-dreams  and  child-sorrows  were  all  re 
vealed  to  her; 


1 8  EHTHALAMIUM. 

Thou   wert    the   first    fair   daughter    that    in    her 

arms  she  pressed, 
And  oh!    'tis  sad  to  give4 thee  in  other   arms  to 

rest. 

Fond  sisters,  too,  and  brothers  are  watching  thee 

with  joy ; 

No  antepast  of  sadness  their  pleasure  can  alloy ; 
They  see  that   thou    art  happy  —  no  tear  bedims 

thine  eye  — 
Thou  'rt  with    them    now,  but  sadly  they  '11   miss 

thee  by  and  by  ! 

Thy  chosen   lord  is  gazing  with   rapture   on  that 

form 
That  turns  to  meet  his  glances  in  rapture  just  as 

warm  ! 
His    heart    was    formed    for    loving   a   soul    like 

thine,  sweet  dove  ! 
But  were  his  bosom  marble,  to  see  thee  were  to 

love ! 

Go  with  him,  then,  fair  flower !  cling  with  thy 
youthful  soul 

To  him  who  swears  to  guard  thee  to  life's  un 
certain  goal ; 


EPITHALAMIUM.  19 

May  happiness    attend    thee  while   gliding   down 

the  stream, 
And  all   thy  days  be  pleasant  as  a  pure   infant's 

dream ! 


HOME    JOYS  AND    SORROWS. 

COME,  prattling  little  one, 
Come  to  thy  father's  arms, 

For  day's  dull  toil  is  done, 
And  home  is  full  of  charms. 

Leap,  my  young  soldier,  leap  ! 

Shout  forth  thy  joy  with  might ! 
How  sweet  will  be  the  sleep 

That  crowns  thy  lids  to-night ! 

Thy  brother  looked  like  thee, 
Ere  God  his  spirit  took; 

Not  quite  so  full  of  glee, 
But  ah,  that  heavenly  look  ! 

Yes,  and  we  loved  him,  too 

(Frown  not,  we  loved  another), 

And  God,  who  took  him,  knew 
How  we  did  love  thy  brother; 


HOME  JOYS  AND  SORROWS.  21 

And  how  we  watched  him  grow, 
Through  months  that  slowly  ran, 

And  longed  together,  so, 
To  see  our  boy  a  man  ; 

And  when  the  fell  disease 

Was  preying  on  his  cheek, 
How,  on  our  bended  knees, 

Our  souls'  distress  we  'd  speak  : 

"Live,  little  darling,  live, 

Thy  father's  fondest  trust, 
For,  oh,  we  cannot  give 
Thy  beauty  to  the  dust ! 

"  Father  in  heaven  !  look  down, 

In  mercy  hear  our  prayer, 
We  may  deserve  thy  frown, 
But,  ah,  in  pity  spare  ! " 

In  vain  our  fond  regard, 

Affliction's  vale  we  trod ; 
And,  though  the  task  was  hard, 

We  gave  him  back  to  God. 

Thy  mother's  hopeless  grief 
Long  time  no  comfort  knew, 


22  HOME  JOYS  AND  SORROWS. 

Till  Heaven  a  sweet  relief 
Upon  our  misery  threw. 

And  thou  wert  sent  to  cheer 
Our  sad,  benighted  way, 

And  with  thy  smile  to  clear 
Our  darkness  into  day. 

Oh,   words  of  joy  were  there  ! 

And  tears,  like  sunshine  rain, 
To  chase  away  despair  — 

We  clasped  our  boy  again  ! 

The  little  toys,  long  hidden 
Within  the  secret  drawer, 

Came  out,  almost  unbidden, 
Once  more  to  strew  the  floor. 


Ah !   sleepy  little  one, 

Thine  eyelids  droop,  I  see ; 
Well,  father's  story  's  done, 

And  mother  waits  for  thee. 

God  love  thy  precious  heart, 
And  keep  thee  with  us  long 


HOME  JOYS  AXD  SORROWS.  23 

But  if  we  're  called  to  part, 

God!  make  the  weak  heart  strong ! 

See  how  the  dear  one  smiles, 

As  if  our  prayer  to  Heaven 
Had  reached  the  blessed  aisles, 

And  answer  sweet  were  given. 

There,  fold  thy  little  hands 

And  sleep  ;    come,  take  him,  mother; 
He  '11  dream  of  heavenly  lands, 

And  see  his  angel  brother  ! 
,  1852. 


THE  GOOD  MAN. 

WHO  is  the  good  man  ?     Is  it  he 
Who,  conscious  of  superior  power, 

Ignores  himself,  that  he  may  be 
Of  use  to  others  every  hour? 

Certes,  the  man  who  thus  would  use 
His  powers  to  aid  his  fellow-man, 

Who  ne'er  his  influence  would  refuse 
The  flame  of  human  love  to  fan, 

Must  bear  a  larger,  loftier  soul 
Than  millions  of  our  selfish  race, 

Who  only  seek  to  reach  their  goal 
By  means  however  low  and  base. 

Then  let  us  contemplate  this  man, 
Though  his  existence  be  ideal  ; 

And,  while  with  earnest  thought  we  scan 
His  points,  imagine  he  is  real. 


THE   GOOD  MAN.  2$ 

Would  he  be  tender  ?     Or  be  stern  ? 

Patient  ?     Or  full  of  fretfulness  ? 
Quick  for  his  vested  rights  to  turn, 

And  fierce  those  vested  rights  to  press  ? 

Would  he  neglect  the  claims  of  others, 
To  nurse  with  jealousy  his  own  ? 

Or,  judging  all  mankind  as  brothers, 
Stand  up,  sometimes,  for  theirs  alone  ? 

Extreme  to  mark  what  's  done  amiss 
Against  himself  ?     Or  patient  when 

His  wrongs  are  greatest  ?     Seeking  bliss 
In  righting  wrongs  of  other  men  ? 

Fickle  in  temper  ?     Losing  head 

For  every  fool  that  wags  the  tongue  ? 

Thrown  off  his  balance  by  the  dread 
Of  wit's  frail  shaft  against  him  flung  ? 

I  tell  thee,  friend,  that  not  one  fool, 
Nor  all  the  fools  arrayed  together, 

Could  turn  that  man  of  brow  so  cool ; 
My  friend,  the  good  man  is  no  feather  ? 

His  well-poised  temper  never  fails ; 
He  cannot  lose  his  self-respect ; 


26  THE   GOOD    MAN. 

And  when  the  storm  of  wrath  assails, 
He  stands,  in  conscious  strength,  erect. 

He  bears  with  peevish  ones,  and  makes 
Allowance  for  the  soul  that 's  weak  ; 

Ingratitude  he  calmly  takes, 

And  smiles  at  insolence's  freak. 

He  shuns  the  dark,  revengeful  mood, 
And  by  fresh  kindness  nobly  given, 

O'ercomes  the  evil  by  his  good,  — 
All-powerful  attribute  of  Heaven  ! 

In  short,  no  fiendish  hate  without, 
And  no  ill-temper  throned  within, 

Can  turn  this  noble  one  about, 

Nor  from  his  path  this  brave  one  win. 

For  inborn  generosity 

Can  tread  no  pathway  save  its  own ; 
Benevolence,  pure-souled  and  free, 

Smiles  at  the  dirt  before  it  thrown  ! 

Yes,  let  us  dream  of  such  a  man, 

A  tower  of  magnanimity, 
Whose  lofty  soul  with  ease  may  scan 

What  others  can  but  dimly  see  ! 


THE   GOOD  MAN.  2J 

Haply  our  dreams,  by  Morphean  arts 

Unknown  to  shallow  mortal  ken, 
May  graft  his  virtues  on  our  hearts, 

And  make  us  better,  happier  men. 


TO   SALLIE. 

Go,  precious  daughter,  though  our  hearts  are  griev 
ing  ! 

Go  with  the  warrior  husband  of  thy  choice, 
Nor  heed  the  pangs  that  pierce  us  at  thy  leaving, 

As  now  we  say  "  Farewell !  "  with  faltering  voice. 

God's  blessing  go  with  thee,  our  darling  daughter, 
And  shelter  thee  from  evil  on  thy  way  ! 

Watch  over  thee  upon  the  stormy  water, 

And  be  thy  guard,  thy  guide,  thy  life-long  stay. 

And  oh,  when    absent  from   the  hearts  that  love 

thee, 
And  from  the  eyes  that  watched  thee  from  thy 

birth, 

Let  memories  of  the  absent  ones  oft  move   thee 
To  holy  thoughts  amid  the  scenes  of  mirth. 

Think  of  that  mother  who  with  pure  devotion 
Has  guided  thy  young  steps  from  infancy ; 


TO  SALLIE.  29 

Whose  breast  is  fraught  with  love  as  vast  as  ocean, 
And  swells  with  grief  at  parting  now  from  thee. 

Think  of  thy  father !  how  his  loved  ones  wander 
And  leave  his  waning  years  to  loneliness ; 

Yet,  though  the  ties  of  love  with  age  grow  fonder, 
Submissively  he  parts  with  thy  caress. 

This  sad  farewell  is  not  a  hopeless  parting ; 

Not  his  thy  mother's  pangs  of  rayless  grief ; 
To  him  the  throbbing  breast,  the  tear-drop  starting, 

Are  but  the  harbingers  of  kind  relief. 

For   he    has  watched  with   joy  his   bright   young 
vision, 

As  onward  sped  her  years  to  womanhood, 
And  knew  that  love  must  soon  assert  its  mission, 

With  all  its  scenes  of  evil  and  of  good. 

Think  of  thy  absent  sister,  and  thy  brothers, 
Who  prize  thee  with  a  love  beyond  compare  ; 

Thy  only  sister,  who,  above  all  others, 

Will  sadly  miss  thy  form  at  bedside  prayer. 

And  now  thou  goest  with  thy  brave  young  soldier, 
To  meet  the  storms  of  earth-life  by  his  side  ; 


3O  TO  SALLIE. 

One  who  has  sworn  within  his  arms  to  fold  you, 
And   shield   e'en  with   his   life    his   fair   young 
bride. 

Farewell,   my  daughter,    and   our   prayers    attend 

thee  ; 

Heed  not  the  tears  that  will  unbidden  flow. 
May  Heaven  its  fairest,  dearest  blessing  send  thee  ; 
Go,  with  our  tears,  our  prayers,  our  blessings,  — 

go! 
January  31,  1878. 


FAREWELL  ADDRESS. 

WRITTEN  FOR,  AND  RECITED  BY,  MRS.  JULIA  DEAN  HAYNE, 
ON  THE  OCCASION  OF  HER  FAREWELL  BENEFIT,  AT  PORT 
LAND,  OREGON,  NOVEMBER  12,  1864. 

THE  actress  comes,  not  now  to  act  a  part, 
But  speak  the  feelings  of  a  grateful  heart 
For  kindly  smiles,  and  your  too  warm  applause, 
So  richly  given,  yet  in  so  poor  a  cause. 
She  acts  not  now,  but  feelings,  oh,  how  strong ! 
Rush  to  find  utterance  from  her  feeble  tongue. 

The  unremitting  toil,  the  anguish  deep, 
In  midnight  study  oft,  while  others  sleep, 
Till,  all  fatigued,  the  overburdened  brain 
Finds  respite  short,  and  wakes  to  toil  again,  — 
Wakes  to  the  cares  that  claim  from  her  their  due, 
As  wife,  as  mother,  and  as  actress  too. 
The  dread  which  visits  oft  the  fainting  heart, 
Lest  all  her  efforts  fail  to  fill  the  part ; 
Lest,  while  the  stern  endeavors  of  the  mind 
Are  sadly  tasked,  the  portrait  true  to  find, 


32  FAREWELL   ADDRESS. 

And  paint  with  truth  each  passion's  varying  hue, 
The  faults   might   glare,   her   pictures    prove    un 
true  ; 

These  wring  the  heart,  and  none  save  artists  know 
Those  bitter,  bitter  depths  of  mental  woe. 
But,  oh,  what  sweet  results  have  met  her  here, 
To  banish  all  anxiety  and  fear  ! 
All  care  to-night  is  scattered  to  the  wind, 
Your  smiles  to  greet,  your  kind  applause  to  find. 
Thanks  for  the  welcome  thus  extended  here, 
From  eyes  that  sparkle  with  true  friendly  cheer. 
Here,  where  the  bright  Willamette  wanders  free, 
To  seek  its  goal  far  in  the  Northern    sea, 
And.  like  some  fair  and  blushing  mountain  bride, 
Greet  with  the  nuptial  kiss  old   Ocean's  tide  ; 
Here,  where  the  hardy  miner  rests  awhile, 
Returning  from  the  scenes  of  honest  toil, 
To  wait  the  noble  vessel,  soon  to  bear 
His  earth-dug  treasures  for  loved  ones  to  share ; 
Here,  as  I  mark  your  city's  busy  scene, 
With  joy  I  hail  Pacific's  second  queen  ! 

Long  may  Willamette's  valley  smile  in  peace, 
Her  labors  lessening  as  her  fruits  increase. 
Here  the  dread  sounds  of  war  have  never  come, 
To  tear  the  husband  from  his  much-loved  home  ; 


FAREWELL   ADDRESS.  33 

To  rend  the  maiden's  heart,  as  to  the  strife 

Her  lover  goes,  to  offer  up  his  life. 

Oh,  may  no  eye  of  those  assembled  here 

Be  doomed  to  shed  the  unavailing  tear 

For  dear  ones,  lost  beneath  the  surging  wave 

Of  War,  that  clots  our  land  with  many  a  grave  ! 

And  now,  farewell  !  the  dearest  friends  must  part, 
Although  the  breast  may  throb,  the  tear-drop  start. 
And  when  far,  far  from  you  my  lot  is  cast, 
Think  not  that  aught  can  ever  blot  the  past. 
No  !  faithful  to  the  hearts  that  met  me  here, 
And    strewed    my  path    with  flowers    of   sweetest 

cheer, 

Memory  will  turn,  when  clouds  obscure  my  way, 
To  find  in  thoughts  of  you  a  brighter  day. 
Fain  would  I  linger  here,  but  voices  come 
On  every  breeze,  to  whisper  of  my  home  ; 
My  home  !  where  fond  ones  wait  with  tearful  eye, 
And  watch  each  sail  that  looms  against  the  sky. 
Yes,  though  the  tear-drop  start,  the  bosom  swell, 
I  must,  regretful,  speak  the  sad    Farewell ! 
3 


TO  ADDIE. 

JOYOUS  smiles  and  tears  of  sadness 

Mingle  round  our  hearth  to-day, 
Where  the  blissful  tones  of  gladness 

Have  been  fondly  prone  to  stay. 
She,  our  loved  one,  with  another 

Goes,  the  path  of  life  to  share, 
Leaving  dear  ones,  father,  mother, 

Sad,  with  one  more  vacant  chair. 

Oh,  my  precious  one,  my  daughter  ! 

"Oh,  my  winsome  Adelaide!" 
Winsome  from  the  days  of  childhood, 

When  between  our  knees  you  prayed ; 
Can  the  heart  you  now  have  chosen 

Beat  with  love  for  you  like  ours  ? 
Must  the  parent-love  be  frozen, 

Gazing  on  these  nuptial   flowers  ? 

One  short  year  has  scarcely  wasted 
Since  your  darling  sister  left, 


TO  AD  DIE.  35 

Then  the  pangs  of  grief  we    tasted, 

Now  again  are  we  bereft  ! 
Who  shall  now  that  bright  smile  bring  us  ? 

Who  restore  those  sounds  of  mirth  ? 
Who  shall  now  the  old  songs  sing  us, 

As  we  watch  our  lonely  hearth  ? 

Yet  we  know  that  thou  art  happy, 

And,  though  we  may  meet  no   more, 
We  shall  not  forget  the  meeting 

Promised  on  the  farther  shore  ! 
Earth  affords  no  joy,  no  laughter, 

But  some  bleeding  hearts  are  nigh, 
Waiting  for  the  great  Hereafter 

In  God's  glorious  by  and  by! 

So  our  sad  farewell  is  spoken, 

And  we  press  that  darling  form, 
Though  our  heart-strings,  wrung  and   broken, 

Seem  like  wrecks  amid  the  storm  ! 
Good-by,  Addie  !     Lips  no  fonder 

Ever  pressed  a  daughter's  brow; 
Oh,  where'er  through  life  you  wander, 

Think  of  home,  so  lonely  now ! 

January  22,  1879. 


EASTER  HYMN. 

WRITTEN   FOR   ZION   PROTESTANT   EPISCOPAL   CHURCH,  NEW 
PORT,    R.    I.,    EASTER    SUNDAY,    1877. 

HARK,  the  joyful  carol  sounding 

From  the  ransomed,  far  and  wide  ! 
Faithful  hearts  with  joy  are  bounding, 

Praising  Him,  the  Crucified  ! 
Banish  now  all  tones  of   sadness, 

Bring  fresh  flowers  to  strew  his  way, 
Let  our  mourning  turn  to  gladness, 

"  Christ  the  Lord  is  risen  to-day  /" 

God  Incarnate  soars  to  heaven, 

Pleads  his  wounds  and  sufferings  here, 
Precious  price  of  sin  forgiven, 

Wounds  that  bring  redemption  near  ! 
Angels  bright  repeat  the  story, 

While  glad  hosts,  in  white  array, 
Join  our  Easter  song  of  glory, 

"  Christ  the  Lord  is  risen  to-day  !  " 


EASTER  HYMN.  37 

Ho,  redeemed  ones  !     Chant  his  praises  ! 

Let  new  songs  declare  your  joy ; 
Lo,  the  pall  of  darkness  raises, 

Sin  and  sorrow  to    destroy! 
Death  hath  flown,  and  life  immortal 

Cheers  us  on  our  glorious  way 
To  Jerusalem's  blest  portal, 

"  Christ  our  Lord  is  risen  to-day  /" 

May  our  hearts  with  fond  devotion 

Keep  the  promise  ever  nigh. 
Till  we  reach  that  blissful  ocean, 

In  the  glorious  by  and  by  ! 
May  no  earthly  prospect  please    us, 

Till  on  wings  we  soar  away, 
There  to  sing  the  songs  of  Jesus 

Christ  our  Lord,  through  endless  day  ! 


POETIC   ADDRESS. 

WRITTEN    FOR   THE   CELEBRATION   OF   ST.   JOHN  THE 
BAPTIST'S  DAY. 

HAIL,  mystic  brothers !     Favored  sons  of   Light, 
Who  come  together  on  this  festive  night, 
To  worship  the  Grand  Architect  of  heaven, 
And  ask  that  blessing  may  be  freely  given 
To  all  who  dwell  upon  this  fleeting  earth, 
Whether  in  hovel  or  in  halls  of  mirth,  — 
Thrice  welcome  all !     On  this  proud  natal  day, 
SAINT  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST  guides  us  on  our  way, 
While  forms  of  beauty  gather  here  to-night, 
To  cheer  us  on  with  smiles  and  glances    bright ! 

Religion's  handmaid  — glorious  Masonry  ! 
Ennobling  those  who  truly  follow  thee,  — 
What  notes  can  chant  thy  praises,  or  declare 
The  joys  and  virtues  thy  true  followers  share. 

Behgld  the  Mason  as  he  first  explores 

The  hidden  depths  within  our  mystic  doors ; 


POETIC  ADDRESS.  39 

He  leaves  his  helpless  state,  and  from  the  night 

Of  darkness  enters  on  a  blaze  of  light. 

Behold  him,  as  with  firm  though  bated  breath,  — 

His  agonies  resembling  those  of  death,  — 

He  enters  boldly  on  the  task  to  prove 

The  wondrous  merits  of  MASONIC  LOVE  ! 

Here  first  he  stands  with  opened  eyes,  to  be 

A  model  of  true  worth  and  secrecy; 

Here  is  revealed  to  his  astonished  sight 

The  awful  grandeur  of  "LET  THERE  BE  LIGHT!  " 

And  here  he  learns  that  in  the  Mason's  school 

The  HOLY  BIBLE  is  the  only  rule. 

The  Square  and  Compasses  are   held  to  view 

As  curbing  his  desires  and  passions  too. 

Clothed  with  the  lamb-skin  as  his  sure  defense, 

Emblem  of  purity  and  innocence, 

He  in  the  North-East  corner  takes  his  place, 

The  youngest  Mason,  full  of  new  found  grace. 

Perfect  and  upright  Mason,  there  he  stands, 

The  gauge  and  gavel  in  his  worthy  hands, 

While,  over  all,  the  starry  blue  expanse 

Spreads,  the  anticipation  to  enhance, 

Of  that  good  time  for  which  all  Masons  strive, 

When  in  the  Lodge  above  they  shall  arrive, 

By  Jacob's  ladder,  whose  three  rounds  so  fair, 

Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity,  shall  guide  them  there. 


4<D  POETIC  ADDRESS. 

He  learns  to  meet  upon  the  Level  too, 
To  act  upon  the  Plumb  as  brother  true, 
And,  when  his  lodge  from  labor  doth  repair, 
He  learns  to  part  with  brethren  on  the  Square. 
His  guiding  rules,  all  handed  from  above, 
Relief  and  Truth  joined  with  a  brother's  Love, 
Temperance,  Fortitude,  and  Prudence  too, 
With  solid  Justice,  form  his  system  true  ! 

Behold  him  further  on,  progressing  still, 
And  climbing  slowly  the  Masonic  hill. 
The  Plumb,  the  Square,  the  Level  still  appear 
As  guides  upon  his  mystical  career ; 
Between  the  brazen  pillars  he  attends, 
And  with  his  guide  the  winding  stairs  ascends 
Into  that  chamber  where  fresh  light  is  gained, 
And  where  the  liberal  arts  are  all  explained. 
Here  to  the  heights  of  science  he  can  soar, 
Set  forth  in  language  never  heard  before. 
The  sheaf  of  wheat,  the  waterfall,  are  taught, 
New  rays  of  light  are  to  his  vision  brought,  — 
Till  his  dazed  eyes  are  opened  wide  to  see 
The  hidden  meaning  of  the  letter  G  ! 

But  the  sublime  for  him  is  yet  to  dawn; 
Behold  him  as  he  travels  further  on. 


rOETIC  ADDRESS.  41 

SANCTUM  SANCTORUM  he  has  gained  at  last, 
And     through     the     TEMPLE-BUILDER'S     trials 

passed  ! 

Faithful  and  true,  with  firm  Masonic  nerve, 
Death     fails    to    force    him    from    his    vows    to 

swerve ! 

Rather  the  torture,  rather  dust  to  dust, 
Than  shirk  his  duty  or  betray  his  trust ! 
Here  we  behold  the  perfect  man,  imbued 
With  all  the  "graces  of  our  brotherhood  ; 
Triumphing  over  death,  firm  fixed  is  he 
In  hope  of  glorious  Immortality ! 
Such  is  our  noble  brotherhood,  —  and  still 
The  sad  events  near  Mount  Moriah's  hill 
And  at  the  Temple  Gates  must  e'er  remain 
Impressed    upon    our    hearts    while    Time    shall 

reign  ! 

What  is  the  Mason's  mission  ?     'T  is  no  less 

Than  to  relieve  a  brother  in  distress,  — 

To  heal  the  widow's  woes,  to  soothe  her  sigh, 

And  dry  the  tear  from  the  poor  orphan's  eye  ! 

To  keep  inviolate  the  holy  vow 

Of  universal  friendship,   and  to  bow 

Before  the  shrine  of  Him  who  gives  us  grace 

To  frame  our  hearts  fit  for  His  dwelling-place ; 


42  POETIC  ADDRESS. 

Who  watches  o'er  our  work,  and  deigns  to  be 
Our  Teacher  in  all  acts  of  purity. 
Brethren,  it  is  for  this  we  meet  and  part, 
And    serve    with    hand    to    hand    and    heart    to 

heart. 
The    world    our    Lodge,    we    seek    ourselves    to 

raise 
To  that  grand  sphere  where  reigns   the    King  of 

Days, 

And  there  through  an  eternity  of  youth 
Drink  from  the  fountain  of  Jehovah's  Truth! 

Let  us  our  mission  ever  keep  in  sight,  — 
And,  as  we  leave  this  sacred  house  to-night, 
Let  us  remember  that  great  truth  we  teach, 
That  we  are  surely  traveling  on  to  reach 
"That  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveler  is  e'er  permitted  to  return  ;  " 
And  that  our  loved  ACACIA  blooms  to  prove 
The  endless  ages  of  Almighty  Love,  — 
Pointing  us  to  those  glorious  realms  on  high, 
Where  souls  redeemed  can  never,  never  die. 


GENERAL   TAYLOR 

AFTER   THE    BATTLE   OF    BUENA   VISTA. 

OLD  ZACHARY  the  brave 

Was  preparing  to  shave, 
And  had  just  taken  off  his  bandanna; 

His  beard  long  and  gray 
.     Had  grown  since  the  day 
He  had  peppered  the  proud  Santa  Anna  ! 

A  courier  from  home, 

Steed  covered  with  foam, 
Arrived  with  the  latest  newspaper,  — 

The  razor  was  dropped 

And  the  General  popped 
Out,  to  read  by  the  light  of  a  taper. 

His  eye  met  the  top  — 
He  the  paper  let  drop  — 
His  cheek  first  turned  red,  and  then  paler, 
For  there  stood  to  view, 
And  in  capitals  too, 
"FoR  PRESIDENT,  GENERAL  TAYLOR!" 


44  GENERAL    TAYLOR. 

He  called  Major  Bliss  — 
"  Here,  by  Jove  !    look  at  this  ! 
I  '11  soon  stop  it  I  '11  lay  them  a  wager ! 

For  me  to  aspire ! 

Why  death  and  h — 1-fire  ! 
You  know  that  I  never  did,  Major ! " 

"  I  've  rode  myself  sore 
To  get  through  this  d — d  war, 

Although  I  Ve  had  poor  transportation  ; 
And  all  that  I  do 
Has  one  object   in  view  — 

To  conquer  a  peace  for  the  Nation ! " 

"And  Major,  I  swear 

I  don't  think  it  fair, 
In  spite  of  the  pains  I  am  taking, 

To  be  talking  before 

I  have  finished  this  war, 
Of  elections  and  President-making  !  " 

So  saying,  he  went 

On  his  shaving  intent, 
But  'twas  nothing  but  ripping  and  tearing! 

And  the  last  that  we  saw 

He  had  Bragg  by  the  paw, 
And  Lord !    how  the  General  was  swearing  ! 


MY  OLD  KNAPSACK. 

FARE  THEE  WELL,  my  good  old  knapsack  ! 

I  must  part  with  thee  at  last ; 
Since  I  took  thee  as  companion 

We  have  weathered  many  a  blast  ; 
Through  the  Palo  Alto  thunder 

And  Resaca's  field  of   blood, 
Thou  has  faced  it  out,  old  fellow, 

And  unscathed  in  battle  stood  ! 

When  dark  night  had  closed  the  carnage 

Of  that  great  victorious   day, 
And  I  slept  in  mud  so  weary 

In  the  fort  at  Monterey, — 
Dead  companions  all  around  me 

In  that  dark  and  bloody  den,  — 
Then  I  found  thy  worth,  old  knapsack  : 

How  I  owned  thy  virtues  then  ! 

Vera  Cruz   and  Cerro  Gordo 

Each  have  tried  thy  sinews  well ; 


46  MY  OLD  KNAPSACK. 

Stern    Contreras  —  Churubusco  — 

All  thy  many  virtues  tell. 
Firm  Chapultepec  beheld  thee 

Ere  it  met  its  overthrow, 
And  thy  march  with  me  was  onward 

Till  unslung  in  Mexico. 

Thou  wert  ever  true,  old  fellow, 

Thou  to  me  wert  ever  true  ; 
I  have  carried  thee  in  summer, 

And  when  Texan    northers  blew ; 
When  my  friends  had  all  deserted, 

When  my  foes  looked   doubly  black, 
When  fond  hope  had  almost  yielded, 

Still   I  found  thee  at  my  back  ! 

How  my  tears  have  coursed  adown  thee, 

Pillowed  on  the  desert  sand, 
As  I  read  my  mother's  letters, 

Penned  with  aged  trembling  hand, 
Or  perused  a  sister's  missive, 

Breathing  o'er  me  childhood's  spell, 
Calling  home  the  wayward  wanderer, 

Let  the  chords  of  memory  tell ! 

When  with  pain  my  head  was  throbbing, 
And  fatigued  and  worn  I  lay, 


MY  OLD  KNAPSACK.  47 

Thinking  of  the  morrow's  conflict, 

And  of  loved  ones  far  away, 
Weary,  heart-sick,  sad.  and  foot-sore, 

Dark  seemed  all  the  world  to  me, 
'Reft  of  all  save  thee,  old  knapsack, 

Could  I  fail  of  loving  thee  ? 

True,  I  little  thought,  old  fellow, 

When  I  shouldered  thee  at  first, 
That  the  ties  which  bound  so  firmly, 

All  were  doomed  in  time  to  burst ; 
But  alas  !  thy  coat  is  threadbare, 

"Where  my  head  so  oft  hath  lain," 
And  the  care  once  lavished  on  thee 

Ne'er  can  be  bestowed  again  ! 

And  when  I,  worn  out  in  service, 

'Neath  the  sod  shall  be  laid  down, 
When  no  more  the  front  of  battle 

Shall  inspire  me  with  its  frown, 
May  some  noble-hearted  comrade, 

Kindly,  to  my  memory, 
Shed  an  honest  tear,  old  knapsack, 

As  is  falling  now  for  thee. 

VERA  CRUZ,  MEXICO,  January  20,  1848. 


TO    THE    TORN    FLAG,    THIRD    UNITED 
STATES    INFANTRY. 

WAVE  ON,  proud  flag !     Wave  on, 

Nor  blush  to  own  the  scars 
So  proudly,  nobly  won 

Amid  the  din  of  wars  ! 
Thy  willing  folds  shake  out, 

Well  pierced  although  they  be, 
In  the  Resaca's  rout 

They  led  to  victory ! 

Wave  on,  to  tell  the  foe 

Thy  Stars  are  on  the  way 
To  shine  in  Mexico 

Bright  as  at  Monterey ! 
Speak  out  in  glorious  might ; 

Tell  them  the  fierce  onset 
Of  Cerro  Gordo's  height 

Is  but  a  foretaste  yet ! 

Well  hast  thou  made  us  feel 
That,  foremost  in  the  fight, 


7V    THE    TORN  FLAG.  49 

Thy  presence  nerves  the  steel 
That  strikes  for  freedom's  right ! 

That  shattered  as  thou  art, 
Torn  though  thy  foldings  be, 

The  sight  still  cheers  the  heart 
And  bids  us  on  with  thee  ! 

April  20, 1847. 


RES  AC  A   DE   LA   PALM  A. 

WITH  our  own  proud  eagle's  flight, 
And  with  armor  flashing  bright, 
To  defend  a  Nation's  right 

Did  we  come  ; 

Every  heart  was  beating  high, 
While  the  flashing  of  each  eye 
Told  that  all  would  freely  die 

For  our  home  ! 

On  the  Rio  Bravo's  stream 

Did  our  brightened  sabres  gleam, 

And  our  thoughts  as  in  a  dream 

Float  before  us, 

As  we  wandered  hours  and  hours 
To  gaze  upon  thy  towers, 
Rising  out  from  groves  of  flowers, 

Matamoros  ! 

But,  alas !  the  tale  to  tell : 
From  the  tangled  chaparral, 


RES  AC  A   DE  LA   PALM  A.  51 

Where  brave  Cross  and  Porter  fell 

Rose  the  cry, 

As  each  warrior  seized  his  gun 
And  for  vengeance  swiftly  run 
For  the  bloody  murders  done, 

Or  to  die  ! 

See  our  gallant  veterans  close 
As  the  shouts  so  wildly  rose, 
And  we  clashed  upon  our  foes, 

Each  brave  band  ! 
Tremble,  Mexico  !     The  hour 
To  assert  a  Nation's  power 
And  deal  a  righteous  dower 

Is  at  hand  ! 

Now  we  reap  the  vengeance  due  ! 

See  !  their  ranks  are  falling  through  — 

While  their  stiffening  corses  strew 

Every  spot  ! 

See  the  gore  in  streamlets  gush, 
As  their  vanquished  thousands  rush 
For  the  river,  through  the  brush  ! 

Halt  them  not ! 

Let  them  cross  to  whence  they  came, 
And  if  glory's  torch  of  flame 


52  RES  AC  A   DE  LA   PALM  A. 

Is  not  smothered  by  their  shame  ; 

If  their  scars 

Still  incite  when  battle  calls  ; 
Though  many  a  warrior  falls 
We  '11  in  Montezuma's  halls 

Plant   the  Stars! 


FAREWELL  TO   MEXICO. 

WRITTEN   ON    EMBARKING    FROM   VF.RA    CRUZ,   MEXICO,  JAN- 
UARY,    1848. 

FAIR  Land,  at  length  I  leave  thee  ;  yet 

Thy  silvery  streams  and  sunny  skies 
Fade  from  my  view  without  regret, 

With  not  a  tear  to  dim  these  eyes. 
I  leave  thy  mountains  crowned  with  snow, 

Thy  temples  with  their  marble  floors, 
Where  kneels  the  maid  whose  whisper  low 

In  humble  suppliance  heavenward  soars. 
No  more  my  footsteps  o'er  thee  roam, 
A  voice  superior  calls  me  home ! 

I  've  wandered  o'er  thy  flowery  fields, 
And  pensive  sat  beside  thy  streams  ; 

I  've  owned  the  power  which  beauty  wields, 
In  daylight  thoughts,  in  midnight  dreams ; 

Yes,  I  have  loved  an  Aztec  maid, 

Her  listening  ear  has  heard  my  sighs, 


54  FAREWELL    TO  MEXICO. 

And  oh  !   I  could  have  always  stayed 
To  gaze  into  those  dark,  dark  eyes, 
But  that  my  own  paternal  dome 
Looms  up  to  call  the  wanderer  home. 

I  've  seen  thy  choicest  warriors  fall 

Before  the  rifles'  deadly  aim, 
And  mourned  thy  millions  held  in  thrall 

By  fiends  who  seek  inglorious  fame  ; 
I  've  seen  the  comrades  at  my  side 

Amid  the  cheers  of  victory  die, 
And  laughed,  aye,  shouted,  in  my  pride 

To  see  thy  rent  battalions  fly ! 

But,  blood  enough  ;  I  cross  the  foam 
To  greet  once  more  my  own  dear  home. 

Farewell !     I  leave  thee  not  alone, 

The  Stars  and  Stripes  still  proudly  deck 
Thy  palaces  of  massive  stone, 

Thy  lofty  towers,  Chapultepec ; 
I  leave  thee,  all  fond  thoughts  repressing, 

All  bright  and  sunny  as  thou  art, 
I  go  to  meet  a  parent's  blessing, 

And  glad  once  more  a  sister's  heart. 
A  thousand  breezes  sweetly  come 
To  waft  me  to  my  childhood's  home. 


TO  MY  OLD   MUSKET. 

GOOD-BY,  old  musket  mine,  good-by  ! 
I  leave  thee  not  without  a  sigh, 
For  many  a  year  we  've  passed  together, 
In  sunshine  and  in  stormy  weather  ; 

And  though  the  parting  wrings  my  heart, 
Yet,  dear  old  comrade,  we  must  part. 

Oh,  many  a  wet  and  weary  way, 
Through  the   dark  swamps  of  Florida, 
With  aching  limbs  and  blistered  feet, 
I  've  tramped,  the  Seminole  to  meet ; 
And  many  a  night  in  bivouac  lay, 
And  hugged  thee  in  my  arms  till  day. 

On  Palo  Alto's  well-fought  field 
The  dread  artillery  thunder  pealed, 
And  though  thy  tones  were  heard  not  then, 
Nor  foeman  stood  within  thy  ken, 
I  felt  the  love  which  war  reveals 
The  warrior  for  his  musket  feels. 


56  TO  MY  OLD  MUSKET. 

Resaca  de  la  Palma  heard 

The  voice  of  war  within  thee  stirred  ; 

And  when  we  paused,  with  victory  crowned, 

Wounded  and  dying  strewed  around, 

I  held  thee  closer  to  my  heart. 

For  thou  hadst  nobly  done  thy  part. 

Still  on,  old  friend,  through  smoke  and  blood, 

At  Monterey  we  stoutly  stood  ; 

Dread  Vera  Cruz  we  saw  laid  low 

In  spite  of  sullen,  desperate  foe  ; 
And  Cerro  Gordo's  bristling  height 
We  reached  in  thickest  of  the  fight. 

Ah,  shall  I  e'er  forget  the  morn 
I  bore  thee  through  the  waving  corn, 
As  down  the  slope  we  proudly  rushed 
Where  Padierna's  1  hosts  were  crushed  ? 
Thy  stock  was  shivered  by  a  blow, 
But  I  was  safe  —  forget  it?     No! 

Shall  I  forget  that  same  proud  day, 
When,  hot  for  Churubusco's  fray, 
I  knelt  upon  the  blood-stained  sward 
And  strengthened  thee  with  scanty  cord, 
1  Contreras. 


TO  MY  OLD  MUSKET.  57 

Then  with  a  shout  of  victory  soon 
Rushed  on  to  join  our  brave  platoon  ? 

Good-by,  old  musket  mine  !     Thy  lock 
Hath  weathered  many  a  tempest-shock  ! 
And  though  I  leave  thee  with  regret, 
And  go  to  don  the  epaulette, 

It  never  shall  forgotten  be 

That  epaulette  was  won  through  thee ! 


THE   PARTING  AT   FORT   SUMTER. 

THE  fog  around  Fort  Sumter 

Was  drifting  fast  away, 
When  through  the  mist  a  schooner 

Sailed  slowly  down  the  bay ; 
No  union  flag  she  boasted, 

Star  emblem  of  the  free, 
But  fore  and  aft  there  floated 

The  lone  Palmetto  tree. 

Fond  hearts  were  sadly  beating 

Within  that  strong-walled  fort, 
For  wives  and  children  waited 

Without  the  sally-port,  — 
Waited  in  mournful  silence 

The  signal  to  depart, 
Which  shook  with  throes  of  anguish 

Each  wife's  and  mother's  heart. 

"  Arrah,   Norah  !    don't  be  cryin' !  " 

A  Celtic  soldier  spoke, 
"  Sure  we  '11  never  think  of  dyin' 

Till  the  last  stale  biscuit  's  broke. 


THE  PARTING  AT  FORT  SUMTER.         59 

And,  darlin',  trust  the  Major, 
He  '11  bring  us  right  at  last !  " 

But  vain  the  attempt  at  soothing, 
The  tears  fell  hot  and  fast. 

"  It  's  not  for  that,  my  husband, 

It  's  not  for  fear  I  weep, 
I  know  the  gallant  Major 

Your  lives  will  safely  keep ; 
It  's  for  the  cruel  mandate 
.     That  hurries  me  away, 
Because  a  coward  President 

Would  starve  you  if  I  stay  !  " 

"  I  know  the  Nation  's  watching 

The  gallant  Major's  course, 
And  countless  hearts  are  yearning 

To  aid  his  little  force  ; 
But  prayers  will  never  feed  you, 

Nor  send  more  men  to  fight, 
Though  this  sad  parting  gives  you 

One  biscuit  more  to-night !  " 

"  Walter,   my  son,  my  first-born, 

Though  I  must  leave  you  now, 
Think  of  this  kiss  at  parting 
I  'm  sealing  on  your  brow  ; 


6O         THE  PARTING  AT  FORT  SUMTER. 

And  if  trie  rage  of  battle 

Should  chance  to  lay  you  low, 

Your  life  's  your  country's,  Walter, 
Your  brother's  ended  so." 

But  see,  the  boat  is  nearing, 

And  in  the  distance,  too, 
Crowds  throng  the  Charleston  levee 

To  cheer  the  parting  few. 
"Good-by,  love!"     "  Good-by,  darling!" 

And  manly  hearts  are  pressed 
With  tearful,  sad  devotion 

To  many  a  loved  one's  breast ! 

The  fog  around  Fort  Sumter 

Had  drifted  far  away ; 
A  trim  and  gallant  schooner 

Sailed  swiftly  from  the  Bay  ; 
Eyes  watched  her  from  the  ramparts, 

That  trim  and  gallant  sail, 
As  from  her  deck  there  floated 

Fond  woman's  mournful  wail  ! 

Eyes  watched  her  from  the  ramparts 

All  wet  with  manly  tears, 
Wrung  from  the  soul's  affection, 

Not  from  unmanly  fears; 


THE  PARTING  AT  FORT  SUMTER.         6 1 

But,  as  the  white  speck  faded, 
Up  rose  those  sons  of  war : 
"  Three  cheers  for  Major  Anderson  ! 
Huzza !    Huzza  ! !    Huzza ! ! !  " 


NATIONAL    HYMN. 

HOME  of  the  free-born  !     Happy  land ! 

Where  man,  progressive,  proud,  and  free, 
In  God-like  majesty  doth  stand, 

Full  type  of  human  liberty : 
Land  of  our  love  !     Thy  banner  bright 

Lights  up  with  joy  the  patriot's  eye  ; 
Beneath  its  folds  thy  sons  unite, 

For  thee  to  live,  or  nobly  die ! 

Land  of  the  glorious  Washington  ! 

Who  broke  the  haughty  tyrant's  chain, 
And  led  our  sires  to  victories,  won 

A  priceless  heritage  to  gain  ; 
Hail  to  thy  Stars  !     Let  each  fair  breeze 

Kiss  that  bright  flag,  whose  folds,  elate, 
Shall  wave  through  unborn  centuries 

On  every  tower,  in  every  State  ! 

Oh,  may  the  arm  of  God  delay  — 

Should  section  still  with  section  strive  — 


NATIONAL  HYMN.  63 

The  horrors  of  that  direful  day 
When  War  our  liberties  may  rive  ! 

May  Peace  and  Plenty  yet  abound, 
And  wholesome  counsel  ne'er  depart ; 

And  may  our  Union  still  be  found 
First,  dearest  to  each  patriot  heart. 

Long  may  our  much-loved  banner  float, 

With  every  star  intact  and  bright, 
Blest  cynosure  to  climes  remote, 

Whose  millions  hail  its  glittering  light ! 
Long  may  our  emblem-eagle's  wing 

Its  peaceful  shelter  mildly  spread, 
While  new-born  nations  gladly  sing 

Their  resurrection  from  the  dead  ! 

Home  of  the  free-born  !     Happy  land ! 

Where  man,  progressive,  proud,  and  free, 
In  God-like  majesty  doth  stand, 

Full  type  of  human  liberty. 
Land  of  our  love  !     Thy  banner  bright 

Lights  up  with  joy  the  patriot's  eye  ; 
Beneath  its  folds  thy  sons  unite, 

For  thee  to  live,  or  nobly  die  ! 
April,  1865. 


"  MISSING." 

WHEN  will  you  corne  back  again,  papa, 

To  sit  in  the  old  arm-chair, 
And  read  the  Bible  to  mother  and  me, 

And  join  in  our  evening  prayer  ? 
Oh,  you  dear,  you  cruel  papa, 

If  you  knew  how  we  grieve  to-night, 
Would  n't  you  leave  that  hateful  war 

And  come  to  your  home  so  bright  ? 

When  will  he  come  back  again,  mamma  ? 

I  only  wish  I  could  read 
That  letter  you  moisten  so  with  tears,  — 

But  my  prattle  you  scarcely  heed. 
Soldiers  in  crowds  are  passing  by, 

As  I  gaze  down  the  lighted  street, 
And  I  long  to  ask  them  about  papa, 

As  they  hurry  their  friends  to  greet. 

Don't  you  remember  the  day,  mamma, 
When  the  news  from  Fort  Sumter  came, 

That  the  gallant  old  Major  Anderson 
Had  won  such  a  glorious  name  ? 


"  MISSING."  65 

When  papa  wore  such  a  bright,  bright  sword 

At  the  head  of  his  company? 
And  how  proud  we  felt  as  he  marched  along, 

When  he  smiled  on  you  and  me  ? 

Don't  you  remember  the  words  he  said 

When  he  kissed  us  the  night  before, 
And  sat  on  the  side  of  my  little  bed, 

To  tell  me  about  the  war  ? 
How  can  I  ever  forget  his  look, 

As  he  mournfully  said  to  you, 
"  Dear,  dear  Nellie,  I  love  you  both, 

But  I  love  the  Union  too  ! 

"  Nellie,  when  on  the  battle-field 

I  share  in  the  conflict  wild, 
I  shall  be  thinking  of  you  alone  — 

You  and  our  darling  child. 
Wherever  our  Union  banner  floats 

There  will  my  station  be, 
Till  the  rebel  hordes  are  in  full  retreat 

From  the  field  of  victory  ! " 

Yes,  and  he  promised  to  write,  mamma, 
But  only  one  letter  came  ; 

5 


66  "  M/SSAVG." 

Why  don't  he  write  to  his  little  girl, 

If  only  to  write  my  name  ? 
How  he  would  grieve  if  he  knew  you  cried 

And  looked  at  his  picture  so  ! 
Surely,  oh,  surely  he  'd  hasten  home 

With  the  crowd  that  is  passing  now. 

As  they  pass  the  door  to-night,  mamma, 

They  whisper  the  name    "  Bull  Run  ;  " 
Is  that  the  name  of  a  battle-field  ? 

Have  the  Union  soldiers  won  ? 
They  pass  along  with  a  saddened  look, 

Their  voices  are  hoarse  and  low, 
It  was  not  thus  when  they  marched  away, 

Two  or  three  months  ago  ! 

Don't  let  me  make  you  cry,  mamma, 

My  tears  are  all  dried  and  gone, 
Now  I  must  say  my  little  prayers, 

And  sleep  till  the  morning  dawn. 
God  in  heaven  !  look  down  to-night, 

Watch  over  our  father  dear  ; 
Shelter  him  in  the  stormy  fight, 

And  pilot  him  safely  here  ! 

Ah,  you  cruel,  you  dear  papa, 

If  you  knew  how  we  grieve  to-night, 


"  MISSING."  67 

Would  n't  you  leave  the  battle-field 
And  come  to  your  home  so  bright  ? 

When  will  you  come  back  again,  papa, 
To  sit  in  the  old  arm-chair, 

And  read  the  Bible  at  night  once  more, 

And  join  in  our  evening  prayer  ? 
August,  1 86 1. 


DECORATION   DAY. 

THE    MOTHER. 

THEY    deck   with    flowers    thy    grave,    my    noble 
boy, 

On  this  the  holiest  day  of  all  the  year  ; 
My  grateful  heart  leaps  with  a  thrill  of  joy 

That  bids  me  strive  to  check  the  rising  tear. 

This  is  my  hour  of  pride,  my  warrior  son ! 

I  give  thy  grave  up -to  thy  country's  care, 
To  those  who,  ere  their  mournful  task  is  done, 

Will  strew  that    mound  with   flowers    all  sweet 
and  rare." 

My  day  of  pride  !      A  mother's  heart  beats  high 
To  know  thou  'rt    numbered  with    that   gallant 
band 

Who  sought  the  glorious  privilege  to  die, 

With  arms  and  face  to  foe,  for  our  dear  land  ! 


DECORATION  DAY.  69 

Tears  I  have  shed  for  thee,  my  soldier  child, 
Nor    ceased    my    weeping    since    that    parting 
day, 

When  the  closed  patriot  phalanx  onward  filed 
To  meet  the  foe,  and  crush  his  proud  array. 

But  for  to-day  no  weeping  !     Not  one  tear 

Shall    down    this    pale    and    wasted    cheek    be 
borne  ! 

A  nation  decks  thy  grave,  and  thousands  here 
Assemble,  o'er  the  gallant  dead  to  mourn. 

Yes,  let  that  nation  weep  !     Enough  for  me, 
To-day,  that  thou  art  of  the  honored  ones ; 

To  know  that  thus,  for  centuries  yet  to  be, 
The    nation's    heart   will    throb   for   these    lost 
sons  ! 

Enough  for  me  to  know  that  our  great  chief, 
Who    brought    his    hosts    victorious    from    the 
fray, 

Joins,  with  a  full  heart  in  the  signs  of  grief, 
These  honors  to  our  Union  dead  to-day. 

And  so  to-day  no  tears  !     But  oh,  my  brave  ! 
To-morrow,  when  the  mournful  pageant  's  o'er, 


7O  DECORATION  DAY. 

Shall  I  not  visit  thy  untimely  grave, 

Dear  boy,  and  wet  it  with  my  tears  once 
more  ? 

Yes,    and    my   harrowing    grief   may    then    have 

vent, 

Unshared,  unnoticed  by  to-day's  sad  crowd, 
And  a  'reft  mother's  sobs,  now  bravely  pent, 
May    fill    the    air    with    grief-tones    long    and 
loud. 

Till  then,  farewell,  my  lost,  my  warrior  son  ! 

Till  then  I  leave  thy  grave  thy  country's  care, 
And  generous  hands  will,  ere  the  day  is  done, 

Bedeck  that  mound  with  flowers  all  sweet  and 
rare. 


TRIBUTE   TO   THE   MEMORY  OF  MAJOR- 
GENERAL   FRED.    STEELE,    U.    S.   A. 

WELL  may  a  comrade's  tear-drop  start, 
Thou  veteran  of  the  noble  heart, 

At  bidding  thee  farewell ; 
Hero  of  many  a  stirring  fight ! 
What  pen  thine  epitaph  shall  write, — 

Thy  manly  virtues  tell  ? 

The  lion-heart,  the   undefiled 
And  gentle  nature  of  a  child 

Were  blent  within  that  breast ; 
The  faithful  friend,  the  bitter  foe, 
Who  spurned  the  action  mean  or  low  — 

Thou  wert  by  all  confessed  ! 

The  smile  deceitful  won  thee  not ; 

The  frown  no  impress  on  thee  wrought ; 

Thou  wast  not  born  to  crouch  : 
Candid  to  foe,  to  friend  sincere, 
We  knew  thee  as  the  chevalier 

"  Sans  peur,  et  sans  refroche  !  " 


72  TRIBUTE    TO  GENERAL  STEELE. 

We  marked  thee  in  Contreras'  fray, 
In  Churubusco's  hard-fought  day, 

And  red  Molino's   fight ; 
And  'mid  the  blood  and  smoke  and  wreck 
Of  towering,  proud  Chapultepec 

Thy  blade  was  flashing  bright ! 

Missouri's  fields  thy  prowess  tell, 
And  where  th'  undaunted  Lyon  fell 

Thy  sword  was  seen  to  wave ; 
And  History's  page  will  fondly  speak 
Of  valorous  deeds  at  Wilson's  Creek, 

A  Nation's  life  to  save. 

Vicksburg's  all-glorious  scenes  of  war, 
The  struggles  on  Arkansas'  shore, 

Close  up  the  record  grand  ; 
And  sadly  falls  the  soldier's  tear, 
As  round  the  flag-enshrouded  bier 

Thy  sorrowing  comrades  stand ! 

And  this  the  epitaph  they  write, 
In  letters  gemmed  with  living  light, 

To  deck  thy  funeral  pile  :  — 
"  Here  lies  Fred.  Steels,  a  chieftain  brave ; 
Tread  lightly  o'er  a  warrior's  grave, 
Who  knew  nor  fear  nor  guile  !  " 


POEM 

DELIVERED    AT   THE    BROWNSVILLE    NATIONAL    CEMETERY, 
TEXAS,    ON    DECORATION    DAY,    MAY    31,    l88o. 

WE  stand  upon  this  holy  ground  to-day, 
With  one  accord  a  sacred  debt  to  pay  ; 
To  offer  honors  to  the  gallant  dead, 
And  strew  with  flowers  the  warriors'  lowly  bed. 
Not  with  draped  colors  nor  with  muffled  drum, 
Not  with  the  notes  of  mourning  do  we  come ; 
These,  though  the  signs  of  woe,  are  soon  forgot, 
So  not  with  these  we  greet  this  grassy  spot. 
We    come   with    hearts    elate,    bright    flowers    to 

spread, 

And  tribute  pay  to  our  illustrious  dead. 
Our  soldiers  and  our  sailors  buried  here 
Demand  these  sacred  rites  from  year  to  year. 

I  see  around  me  veterans  worn  and  gray, 
Who  bear  the  scars  of  many  a  desperate  fray  : 
Some  dealt  beneath  the  flag  of  Single  Star, 
When  Texas  braved  alone  the  brunt  of  war ; 


74  POEM. 

Some  on  the  torrid  plains  of  Mexico, 

And    some   on    fields   where    brethren    dealt    the 

blow. 

Widows  and  orphans,  too,  assemble  here 
To  strew  their  flowers  and  shed  the  silent  tear; 
While,  adding  fitness  to  the  glorious  scene, 
With  forms  erect  and  sternly  martial  mien, 
The  soldier  and  the  sailor  proudly  stand, 
The  twin  protectors  of  our  happy  land ! 

Just  nineteen  years  have  rolled  their  months 
away 

Since  gathering  armies  mustered  for  the  fray  ; 

Then  the  land  trembled  with  a  Nation's  tramp, 

And  North,  South,  East,  and  West  were  one  vast 
camp. 

The  deadly  conflict,  rife  with  blood  and  tears, 

Raged  in  its  might  through  four  long  frightful 
years, 

When  carnage  ceased,  and  Peace  resumed  her 
reign, 

And  the  worn  warriors  sought  their  -homes  again. 

But  ah  !  how  many  thousands  vainly  look 

For  dear  ones,  who  for  war  their  homes  for 
sook,  — 

For  husbands,  fathers,  sons  and  brothers  dear, 


POEM.  75 

Whose    loving   smiles    no  more    shall  greet   them 

here. 

Some  on  the  battle-fields  unsheltered  lie, 
Dead  in  their  gore,  their  covering  the  sky  ; 
While  other  thousands  slept  beneath  the  sands, 
After  rough  burial  at  their  comrades'  hands. 

From  many  a  hard-fought  field  the  sad  remains 
Are  gathered  to  these  homes,  where  silence  reigns, 
And    kind    and    faithful    hands    have    laid    them 

where 

True  friends  and  patriots  annually  repair 
To  deck  with  flowers  each  gallant  soldier's  grave, 
Who  died  with  face  to  foe,  our  land  to  save  ! 

Some  of  these  head-stones  do  not  bear  a  name, 
To  speak  to  future  age  the  soldier's  fame  ; 
The  Grand  Division  of  the  brave  "  unknown  " 
Rest  in  their  graves  crowned  by  a  nameless  stone ! 
But  while  to-day  we  gladly  gather  here, 
To  honor  all  these  heroes  with  a  tear, 
We  only  care  to  know  they  marched  and  fought, 
Through    blood    and    fire   our    priceless   victories 

wrought, 

And  offered  up  their  lives  in  cause  so  dear 
To  you,  to  me,  to  all  assembled  here  ! 


76  POEM. 

Some  by  the  murderous  bullet  bravely  fell ; 
Some,  lingering,  died  beneath  the  fever's  spell. 
Yes  !  sorrowing  mothers,  wives  and  sisters  too, 
We  come  to  honor  those  so  dear  to  you  ! 
What  though  their  names  deck  no  funereal  stone, 
There  is  a  region    bright  where  all  are  known, 
And  where  the  brave  who  rest  beneath  the  sod 
In  spirit  roam,  in  the  full  light  of  God ! 

And  was  this  precious  blood  poured  out  in  vain  ? 
Was  it  for  nought  we  gave  these  martyred  slain  ? 
Behold  the  Stars  and  Stripes  in  peaceful  sway ! 
From  gulf  to  lake  no  bondman  bows  to-day  ! 
From  these  great  sacrifices  we  have  gained 
A  nation  newly  born,  a  race  unchained  ! 
Hark  to  the  song,  't  is  Freedom's  glorious  strain, 
And  franchised  millions  swell  the  glad  refrain  ! 

We  stand  to-day  among  the  graves  of  some 
Who  rallied  at  the  sound  of  Southern  drum. 
We  come  not  here  to  single  out  their  graves,  — 
Let  it  suffice  that  these  were  also  braves ! 
They  were  our  brethren,  and  they  bravely  fought 
To    guard    the    doctrines    from    their    childhood 

taught ; 

And  patriot  hearts  Tvill  not  withhold  their  due, 
As  here  they  sleep,  the  gray  beside  the  blue ! 


POEM.  77 

Here  also  is  the  grave  of  many  a  one 

Who  came  to  die  beneath  this  Southern  sun. 

On  Palo  Alto's  plain  they  met  the  foe, 

And  braved  the  marshaled  hosts  of  Mexico. 

Some  in  Resaca's  charge  were  stricken  down, 

Some  slain  amid  the  thunders  of  Fort  Brown  ! 

All  honor  to  these  noble  sons  of  war, 

Who  left  their  homes  to  succor  the  Lone  Star  ! 

From  North  and  South,  from  East  and  West,  they 

came, 
That  little  band,  and  won  a  glorious  name  ! 

Here  lies  brave  Jacob  Brown,  whose   name  shall 

stand 

A  watchword  on  the  winding  Rio  Grande, 
While  deeds  of  valor  deck  the  roll  of  Fame, 
And  Brownsville  bears  his  grand  historic  name  ! 
The    names  of  Ringgold,  Chadbourne,  Page,  and 

Blake, 

Inge,  Cochrane,  Stevens  too,  shall  live  to  wake 
Within  the  hearts  of  warriors  yet  to  be, 
The  spirit  that  leads  on  to  victory  ! 
The  spirit  that  bore  Zachary  Taylor  on 
Till  Buenavista's  field  was  reached  and  won  ! 

Yes,  comrades,  friends,  let  us  from  year  to  year 
Come  from  our  homes  to  lay  our  offerings  here,  — 


78  POEM. 

Come  with  our  sons,  our  daughters,  and  our  wives, 
To  visit  those  who  offered  up  their  lives  ; 
Thus  nursing  in  our  hearts  that  fealty  true 
To  home  and  country  ever  justly  due, 
By  honoring  those  laid  in  their  narrow  beds, 
Who  bore  that  flag  now  waving  o'er  our  heads  ! 


THE     OLD     SUPERINTENDENT    OF     NA 
TIONAL  CEMETERY. 

"  Four  hundred  thousand  men, 

The  good,  the  brave,  the  true, 
On  battle  plain,  in  prison  pen, 

Lie  dead  for  me  and  you  ! 
Four  hundred  thousand  of  the  brave 
Have  made  our  ransomed  soil  their  grave, 

For  me  and  you  ! 

Good  friend,  for  me  and  you  !  " 

YES,  sir,  I  'm  the  Superintendent ;  walk  in,  please, 

and  have  a  chair — • 
There  's  a  heavy  fog  this  morning,  and  it  sort  o' 

chills  the  air  ; 
But  the  sun  is  breaking  through  it,  and  I  reckon 

we  may  say 
That  we  're  going  to  have  a  beauty  this  thirtieth 

of  May. 
The  lodge  ?•  Why  yes,  it 's  cosy  and  comfortable 

enough 
For  an  old   and   broken   soldier  who   is   used   to 

takin'  it  rough ; 


80  THE   OLD  SUPERINTENDENT. 

And  the  quartermaster-general  does  all  that  can  be 

done 
To  fix  us  —  and  why  would  n't  he  ?   the  war  cost 

him  a  son. 

My  Army  1    Yes,  Lord  bless  you  !  why  here  they 

lie  in  rows, 
And  I  know  each  soldier's  name  by  heart,  as  far 

as  naming  goes ; 
That  dozen  rows  out  yonder,  where  you  see  that 

pile  of  stone, 
Is  the  left  flank  of  my  army — the  brigade  of  the 

"  Unknown!" 

But  they  '11  get  their  share  of  flowers  in  the  strew 
ing  of  to-day, 
And   you  '11   see   some    wet   eyelashes    there   this 

thirtieth  day  of  May  : 
For  the  Nation's  heart  claims  all  of  them  on  this 

proud  day  of  ours, 
And    it   does  n't   take  a  fancy  name  to  fetch   the 

tears  and  flowers  ! 

Long  service  ?    Well,  I  've  had  my  share,  and  forty 

years  ago 
I  hunted  in  the  everglades  to  catch   the    Indian 

foe; 


THE   OLD  SUPERINTENDENT.  8 1 

I  fought  at  Okee-cho-bee  in  old  "  Rough  and 
Ready's  "  band, 

And  bore  my  knapsack  many  a  day  through  Flor 
ida's  burning  sand. 

On  the  field  of  Palo  Alto,  at  Resaca,  too,  I  fought, 

Where  the  loss  of  noble  fellows  made  our  victories 
dearly  bought ; 

In  Taylor's  ranks  at  Monterey  I  met  Ampudia's 
crew, 

Where  the  Third  went  in  three  hundred  and  came 
out  seventy-two  ! 

Yes,  Grant  was  there,  on  every  field  he  met  the 

tawny  foe, 

From  the  fight  at  Palo  Alto  to  the  halt  in  Mexico  ; 
And  the  boys  of  our  brigade  took  heart,  as  to  the 

front  they  ran, 
At  the  words  of  cheer  that  met   them  from  that 

young  and  gallant   man  ! 
They  tell  me  he  's  not  changed  a  bit  since  he  's 

the  Nation's  Head, 
And  I  know  that  he  '11  not  soon  forget  our  noble 

Union  dead  ; 

For  I  heard  that  last  year  in  the  storm,  the  thir 
tieth  of   May, 
Pie  joined  the  throng  at  Arlington  on  Decoration 

Day. 


82  THE   OLD  SUPERINTENDENT. 

Do  I  find  it  lonesome?  No,  sir;  I  sit  for  many 
a  night 

At  the  foot  of  that  old  flagstaff,  when  the  moon  is 
shining  bright, 

And  the  wind  is  whistling  hoarsely,  and  the  rush 
ing  of  the  blast 

Makes  the  halyards  flap  a  tattoo  against  the  tow 
ering  mast ; 

And  my  memory  gathers  round  me  all  the  com 
rades  brave  I  knew, 

From  Bull  Run  to  Appomattox,  —  now  reposing 
'neath  the  dew; 

Then  I  fall  asleep  and  dream  of  these,  my  com 
rades  with  the  dead, 

Till  I  waken  with  the  chilliness  and  totter  off  to 
bed. 

Then  it  makes  up  for  the  loneliness,  this  thirtieth 

day  of  May, 
When  I  meet  with  some  good   faces  I  have  met 

here  many  a  day ; 
Fathers,  mothers,  sisters,  brothers,  weeping  friends 

who  gladly  come 
To  scatter  Spring's  bright  flowers  o'er  their  lost 

ones'  early  tomb  ! 


THE   OLD   SUPERINTENDENT.  83 

Ah  !  it  makes  my  old  frame  tremble  when  I  see 

the  falling  tear 
From  eyes    that   speak   the   love  that  brings  the 

annual  pilgrims  here  ; 
And  when  some  stricken  mother  vents  her  grief 

in  accents  low, 
Then  I'm  hurried  back  to  childhood  —  ah,  God! 

that 's  long  ago  ! 

They  tell  me  that  the  fair  ones  of  the  South  will 

strew  their  flowers 
When  next  they  hold  "  Memorial   Day,"  on  both 

their  graves  and  ours ; 
Well,  this  is  right ;  I  'm  glad  to  see  good  feeling 

coming  round, 
For  hatred  never  moved  the  boys  who  lie  beneath 

the  ground. 
Look  !  over   in    that   corner  sleep  a  dozen  "  boys 

in  gray," 

And  I  twine  a  wreath  for  each  of  them  on  Dec 
oration    Day ! 
For  who  shall  judge  the  hearts  of  those  that  grassy 

mound  conceals  ? 
We  'z>e  had  our  fight  and  bear  no  grudge  —  that 's 

how  a  soldier  feels ! 


84  THE   OLD  SUPERINTENDENT. 

I  'm  looking  forward,  knowing  that  when  I  'm  dead 

and  gone, 
And  in  one  of  these  neat  grassy  rows  they  plant 

the  usual  stone, 

Some  lover  of  the  soldier  will,  with  kind  and  faith 
ful  hand, 
Drop  roses  on   the   grave  of   one  who  fought   to 

save  the  land  ! 
Well,  I  see  the  crowd   is   coming,  so  we  '11    step 

out,  if  you  please, 
That 's  my  bench,  there  in  the  shadow  of   those 

two  tall  willow  trees  ; 
There  's  my  crutches  ;  thank  you  kindly  ;  you  may 

help  me  o'er  the  sill. 
Sir  ?  my  leg  ?  oh,  that  lies   buried  at  the  foot  cf 

Malvern  Hill! 

May,  1873. 


THE  VETERAN   OF  THE   MEXICAN  WAR. 

HALT   there,    veteran !    for    I    know   you   by    the 

badge  that  decks  your  breast ! 
Listen,  while  I  faintly   picture   how    a   soldier   of 

the  West 
Fought  and  died  for  our  loved  country,  —  paying 

thus  the  patriot's  debt,  — 

Braved  the  hordes  of  Santa  Anna,  and    the   mur 
derous  escopet ! 
Many  a  brave  boy  left   his    mother  for  the  fields 

of  Mexico, 
Whose  white  bones  are  bleaching  whiter  near  the 

mountains  tipped  with  snow  ; 
Many  a  brother   left  a  sister,  many  a  true    heart 

left  his  love,  — 
Left,  no  more  to  clasp    the    clear   ones    till    they 

meet  in  courts  above  ! 
You  are  spared  to  tell  the  story,  you  are  here  to 

join  the  ranks 
Of  those  worn  and  shattered  veterans  who  receive 

the  Nation's  thanks ! 


86     THE    VETERAN  OF  THE  MEXICAN  WAR. 

Though  your  sleeve  to-day  be  empty,  though  all 
pensionless  you  stand 

With  the  crowds  that  come  to  hail  the  great  Cen 
tennial  of  our  land, 

Yet  cheer  up  !  for  day  is  breaking,  and  the  coun 
try's  heart  to-day 

Beats  with  gratitude,  and  greets  you  as  when 
freshest  from  the  fray  ! 

List,  then,  to  your  comrade's  story,  told  to  loving 
ones  whose  hands 

Bathed  his  temples,  smoothed  his  pillow,  as  he 
passed  to  heavenly  lands  ; 

See  him,  languishing  and  wounded,  in  his  West 
ern  Lome  to  die  ; 

Hear  him  tell  of  glorious  battles  fought  where 
mountains  pierce  the  sky. 

"  I  'm  faint,  but  oh,    how  happy  now  ! 

There,  let  me  lean  upon  your  breast, 
It  cools  the  fever  on  my  brow 

To  know  I  am  once  more  at  rest ; 

"  Come  nearer,  sister ;  take  my  hand, 

I  feel  death  slowly  stealing  on  ; 
Nearer,  I  '11  tell  thee  of  that  band 
That  many  a  gallant  field  has  won. 


THE    VETERAN  OF   THE   MEXICAN   IV A R.      8/ 

"  I  need  not  speak  the  joy  I  felt 

When  first  the  summons  called  '  to  arms  ! ' 
My  trusty  sword,  my  warrior  belt, 
Had  each  to  me  a  thousand  charms  ; 

"  Nor  how,  when  marshaled  with  our  host, 

I  glanced  along  the  serried  line, 
And  felt  that  I  could  truly  boast 
It  held  no  sturdier  form  than  mine. 

"  On  Palo  Alto's  well-fought  field 

We  first  stood  forth  to  meet  the  foe, 
The  veteran  Taylor  seized  the  rein 
That  curbed  the  pride  of  Mexico. 

"  Like  grass  before  the  scythe  we  mowed  them  • 

Our  well-trained  coursers  trod  the  field, 
As  if  they  knew  the  hearts  that  rode  them 
Were  there  to  conquer,  not  to  yield  ! 

"  With  souls  as  firm  and  nerves  as  steady 

As  ancient  Sparta's  sons  possessed, 
We  rallied  round  '  Old  Rough  and  Readv,' 
And  victory  perched  on  every  crest. 

"  E'en  now,  while  I  relate  the  story, 
My  sinking  spirit  seems  more  light, 


88      THE    VETERAN  OF  THE  MEXICAN  WAR. 

For  there  the  first  bright  glimpse  of  glory 
Rolled  up  before  my  ravished  sight. 

"  Ringgold  and  Duncan  from  our  flanks 

Covered  the  field  with  dead  and  dying, 
Shrapnel  and  grape  tore  through  their  ranks, 
And  sent  their  rent  battalions  flying  ! 

"  From  noon  to  dark  in  smothering  smoke 

From  the  rank  prairie's  burning  grasses, 
The  dread  artillery  thunder  broke, 

Nor  paused  till  night  obscured  the  masses. 

"  Sons  of  the  South,  sons  of  the  North, 

Fought  there  as  brother  shielding  brother  ; 
From  Maine  to  Georgia  went  they  forth, 
God  !    may  they  never  fight  each  other  ! 

"  Resaca's  field  next  lay  before  us, 

And  foes  in  thousands  bit  the  ground  ! 
Again  I  joined  in  victory's  chorus, 
Again  was  free  from  scar  or  wound. 

"  Nine  thousand  escopets  were  flashing 

From  the  vine-tangled  chaparral 
Against  our  nineteen  hundred,  dashing 
Through  brush  to  meet  this  blaze  of  hell ! 


THE    VETERAN  OF  THE  MEXICAN   WAR.     89 

"  The  hoary  veterans  of  Tampico 

In  battery  stood,  a  proud  array, 
But  guns  and  tumbrils  were  abandoned 
At  Sacket's  charge  with  Charlie  May  ! 

"  Our  glorious  Ridgely  poured  his  fire 

In  ceaseless  volleys  through  the  brush, 
Till  vanquished,  in  confusion  dire, 
They  for  the  Rio  Grande  rush  ! 

"  Ah  !  Rio  Bravo,  glorious  river, 

So  smoothly  gliding  on  your  way, 

May  the  deep  crimson  life-drops  never 

Color  your  banks  as  on  that  day  ! 

"  Ah  !  Matamoros  —  clothed  in  flowers 

Like  some  fair  spot  of  ancient  Spain, 
May  your  darks  walls  and  glittering  towers 
Ne'er  gaze  upon  such  sight  again  1 

"  At  Monterey  again  we  met  them, 

Intrenched  behind  their  walls  of  stone, 
And  though  with  vigor  we  beset  them, 

Three  days  and  nights  they  held  their  own. 

"  The  snow-capped  heights  of  Nuevo  Leon 

Heard  there  the  first  dread  sounds  of  war. 


90     THE    VETERAN  OF  THE  MEXICAN  WAR. 

And  many  a  well-drilled  veteran  peon 
Lay  dead,  or  weltering  in  his  gore. 

"  Worth,  from  the  Bishop's  Palace  shelling, 

Sent  swift  destruction  through  the  town  ; 
Of  Mexique's  flower  the  blood  is  welling 
Beneath  tall  Sierra  Madre's  frown ; 

"  While  Taylor  from  the  eastern  plazas, 
His  regulars  mixed  with  volunteers, 
Tunneled  his  way  straight  through  the  casas, 
And  stormed  the  forts  'mid  rousing  cheers  ! 

"  At  length  our  final  charge  was  sounded  ; 

We  drove  the  foe  from  every  gun  ; 
Though  hundreds  of  brave  comrades,  wounded, 
Breathed  their  last  sigh  ere  set  of  sun. 

"  Six  weeks  our  brave  five  thousand   rested 

{Fire  hundred  nobly  death  had  met]  ; 
But  —  ' forward!'  they  were  to  be   tested 
On  many  a  field  more  bloody  yet. 

"At  Vera  Cruz  the  blended  thunder 

Of  friend  and  foe  the  sand-hills  shook  ; 
The  screeching  shells  when  rent  asunder 
Sought  out  their  prey  in  every  nook. 


THE    VETERAN  OF   THE   MEXICAN  WAR.     9 1 

"  Each  moment  proved  our  arms  victorious, 
As  day  and  night  Death's  errand  sped  ; 

Oh  !  't  was  a  sight  sublimely  glorious  ! 
Sister  —  I  faint  —  raise  —  raise  my  head  ! 

"  See  !  —  from  our  mortar  batteries  streaming 
The  dreadful  missiles  seek  the  clouds  ! 

Now  hear  the  crashing,  then  the   screaming, 
As  down  they  plunge  on   frightened   crowds  ! 

"  Undaunted  Perry  from  the  water 
Batters  San  Juan  de  Ulloa's  walls  ; 

Each  noble  vessel  aids  the    slaughter, 
Till  prone  the  '  Cactus  banner  '  falls  ! 

"  Our  veteran  Totten  never  wearies 
Till  bursting  shell  and  blazing  fuse, 

Like  eagles  swooping  from  their  aeries, 
Complete  the  doom  of  Vera   Cruz  ! 

"  Now  onward  still,  each  man  a  hero, 
We  climbed  the  Cerro  Gordo  height, 

And  strewed  the  fair  fields  of  Encerro 
With  hordes  who  sought  inglorious  flight ! 

"Shall  I  forget  the  cheers  so  hearty 
That  from  the  mountain  side    arose 


92      THE   VETERAN  OF   THE   MEXICAN  WAR. 

As  Harney  led  that  storming  party 

Through  showers  of  grape  to  meet  our  foes  ? 

"Up  the  steep'  Cerro,  hot  and  flurried, 

Then  with  clubbed  muskets   dealing  death  ; 

Then  to  the  swift  pursuit  we  hurried 
With  shouts  of  victory  on  each   breath  ! 

*'  Here,  when  the  fiery  chase  had  started, 
Led  by  the  proud,  impetuous  Worth, 

A  musket  ball  my  bridle  parted, 
And  horse  and  rider  fell  to  earth  ! 

"  On  came  the  crowd  in  fury  clashing  ; 

No  power  such  avalanche  could  stay ; 
I  heard  the  shouts — the  sabres  clashing; 

I  felt  their  tread,  and  swooned  away  ! 

"  For  hours  unconscious,  crushed  and  wounded, 

I  lay  upon  that  cold  earth  bed  ; 
I  woke  at  length,  and  then  there  sounded 

An  angel  whisper  near  my  head. 

"I  strove  to  rise  and  gaze  around   me,  — 
Far  off  were  now  the  sounds  of  war  ; 

Close  to  the  earth  my  courser  bound  me, — 
Good  steed  !  — thou  'It  champ  thy  bit  no  more  ! 


THE  VETERAN  OF  THE  MEXICAN  WAR.     93 

"  '  Stranger,  look  up  ;  a  friend  is  near  thee  ' ' 

(In  soft  Castilian  accent  spoken)  ; 
"  '  Within  our  cot  we  '11  strive  to  cheer  thee. 

And  bind  thy  limbs  so  bruised  and  broken.' 

"  Up  to  a  mountain  hut  they  bore  me  ; 

Long  weeks  of  fever  rolled  away, 
Ere  care  and  kindness  could  restore  me 

To  greet  once  more  the  light  of  day. 

"  My  angel  nurse,  fair  Aztec  daughter, 
Hung  o'er  my  couch  with  sweetest  care, 

And  when  I  feebly  called  for  water, 
The  juicy  orange  still  was   there  ! 

"  Upon  the  rocks  at  rough  Contreras, 
At  last  I  with  my  comrades  stood  ; 

Again  the  dark-skinned  foemen  dare    us, 
Again  begins  the  work  of  blood ! 

"  Night  fell  upon  our  ranks  so  steady, 
Fierce  rains  poured  on  our  weary  heads  ; 

But  daylight  found  us  bright  and  ready 
To  charge  their  works  through  lava  beds. 

"  Forth  from  the  pedregal  we  drove  them  ; 
That  glorious  morn  I  '11  ne'er  forget  ; 


94      THE  VETERAN  OF   THE  MEXICAN  WAR 

For  death  below,  and  death  above  them, 
And  death  on  every  side  they  met ! 

"  The  gallant  Smith  to  victory  led  us, 
While  veteran  Riley  followed  fast ; 

And  horse  and  foot  in  terror  fled  us, 
As  leaves  before  the  Northern  blast ! 

"  All  flushed  with  victory  and  undaunted 

We  breasted  Churubusco's  fire, 
And  the  '  Old  Third  '  its  colors  planted 

High  on  the  convent's  topmost   spire  ! 

"With  shouts  we  crossed  the  convent  ditches 
'Mid  raking  fire  of  shot  and  shell, 

Crawling  through  smoke  and  crumbling  breaches, 
Till  wounded,  wet  with  gore,  I  fell ! 

"  On  rode  that  warrior  without  tarnish, 

The  ever-conquering  hero,  Scott ! 
Who  in  the  hour  of  fire  and  carnage 

Mercy's  sweet  promptings  ne'er  forgot ! 

"  I  saw  his  conscious  charger  prancing, 
I  saw  the  chieftain's  features  glow, 

And,  high  o'er  all,  our  flag  advancing 
To  grace  the  halls  of  Mexico  ! 


THE  VETERAN  OF  THE  MEXICAN  IV AR.     95 

"  Two  thousand  brave  ones,  dead  and  gory, 
Slept  tranquil  ere  the  moon  arose  : 

But  the  eight  thousand,  crowned  with  glory, 
Had  routed  forty  thousand  foes  ! 

"  How  Worth's  brave  cohorts  stood  the  slaughter 

On  dark  Molino's  glorious    morn, 
When  death  from  escopet  and  mortar 

Stalked  through  his  ranks  so  sadly  torn  ; 

"  How  his  stout  lads,  eleven  hundred, 
Lay  dead  before  the  fight  was  done, 

While  fort  and  redoubt  o'er  them  thundered 
That  day  until  the  field  was  won  ; 

"  How  the  proud  Capital  was  taken, 

Its  outworks  battered  to  a  wreck, 
And  even  the  deep   foundations  shaken 

Of  towering,  proud  Chapultepec,  — 

"  Let  others  tell ;  for  faint  and  bleeding, 
These  closing  scenes  I  could  not  share, 

But  on  my  couch,  all  else  unheeding, 

Dreamed  of  my  home  and  loved  ones  there ! 

"Yes,  let  them  tell  of  Angostura, 

Where  Taylor's  dwindled  force  withstood 


96      THE  VETERAN  OF  THE  MEXICAN  WAR. 

The  shock  of  Santa  Anna's   fury, 

And  hurled  his  thousands  back  subdued  I 


"Let  them  recall  Taos  and  Embudo, 
Where  our  dragoons  the  onslaught  met ; 

Where  Burgwin  fell  in  glorious  battle  ! 
Where  Ingalls  won  his  first  brevet ! 

"You've  asked  me,  dear  ones,  ' where' s  the  glory '/ 
Oh,  tell  me,  have  I  answered  you  ? 

Have  you  not  heard  the  stirring  story 
Of  march,  and  fight,  and  victory  too  ? 

"  The  scattered  ranks  of  proud  Arista,  — 
The  shattered  walls  of  Monterey,  — 

The  slaughtered  hosts  of  Buenavista,  — 
Are  these  not  glory,  sister,  say  ? 

"  Give  me  some  water,  I  am  weary ; 

My  tongue  is  burning,  short  my  breath  ; 
Oh,  for  a  sleep,  the  road  seems  dreary; 

Quick  !    raise  me,  mother :  is  this  death  ? 

"  Ha !    who  are  these  that  float  around  me 
Like  pleasant  memories  of  the  past  ? 

What !  Carl  !  the  faithful  friend  who  found  me 
When  the  life-blood  was  oozing  fast ! 


THE  VETEKAN  OF   THE   MEXICAN  WAR.     97 

"  Come  nearer,  comrade,  let  me  hold  you  ; 

Why  thou  art  cold  —  whose  hand  is  this  ? 
See,  my  good  Carl,  just  as  I  told  you, 

I  'm  home  once  more :  sister,  a  kiss." 

"  Carl,  my  brave  heart !  dost  thou  remember 

The  rain  and  mud  at  Monterey, 
That  fearful  black  night  in  September, 

When  we  beneath  the  caissons  lay  ? 

"  How  the  '  Black  Fort '  all  night  did  shell  us  — 
How  as  each  tour  on  post  was  sped, 

WTe  crawled,  all  shivering,  to  our  fellows, 
Mixed  up,  the  living  with  the  dead  ? 

"  Dost  mind  the  smoke-wrapped  prairie  battle, 
Where  Mexico's  proud  crest  came  down 

'Mid  iron  hail  and  cannon's  rattle,  — 

Ha,  ha  !  old  Carl,  dost  mind  Fort  Brown  ? 

"  My  brain  seems  wandering,  yet  my  comrade 

Stood  surely  at  my  side  ;  but  now 
His  faithful  hand  methought  was  wiping 

This  damp  that  settles  on  my  brow. 

"  A  mist  is  stealing  o'er  my  senses  ; 
Ha!    now  again  I 'm  in  the  fight, 
7 


98      THE  VETERAN  OF  THE  MEXICAN  WAR. 

See  where  tall  Harney's  charge  advances  ; 
Look  how  they  poise  their  bayonets  bright ! 

"  I  see  the  scattered  legions  flying ! 

I  see  the  flash  of  every  gun  ! 
O  God  !  dear  mother,  this  is  dying  !  " 

THE    WARRIOR   SLEEPS  —  THE   VICTORY  'S   WON  !  " 

Thus    he    passed   away,  our  veteran,  home   from 

many  a  weary  tramp 
From  the   shores  of    Corpus    Christi    to    the  last 

beleaguered  camp ! 
Let   us   drop  a  tear,  my  comrade  ;    let  us  mourn 

with  bated  breath 
O'er    the    twenty    thousand    brave    ones    in    that 

strange  land  doomed  to  death  ! 
Land  where  Grant,  the  youthful   warrior,  breasted 

his  baptismal  fire 
On   the   mountain,  in   the   valley,  under   many   a 

cross-decked  spire  ! 
Land    that   drank    the    blood   of   freemen    thirty 

long,  long  years  ago  ; 

Land  of  silver  stream  and  mountain  —  thrice  un 
happy  Mexico  ! 
But    while    mourning,    still    remember    that    the 

country's  heart  to-day 


THE  VETERAN  OF  THE  MEXICAN  WAR.     99 

Throbs  from  North  to  South,  and  greets  you  as 
her  heroes  from  the  fray ! 

Though  no  more  the  tawny  foeman  meets  you 
on  his  river  banks, 

Where  the  "  Northern  winged  artillery  thun 
dered  through  his  shattered  ranks ; " 

Though  your  sleeve  hang  loose  and  empty,  and 
on  tottering  limbs  you  stand, 

Listening  to  the  great  Centennial  shout  re 
sounding  through  the  land  ; 

Let  that  shout  assure  you,  veteran ;  keep  your 
banner  still  unrolled, 

For  the  Nation  will  remember  those  who  won 
the  Land  of  Gold ! 


TO   MINNIE  GRACE  *  *  *  * 

WITH   A   MORNING-GLORY. 

THOU,  Minnie,  art  the  Sun,  beneath  whose  rays 
We,  like  the  Morning-glories,  heed  the  call ; 
While,  in  thy  absence,  even  our  fairest  days 
Are  clothed  in  sadness  like  a  funeral  pall. 
But  ah,  how  blest  is  he  who  all  the  while 
Enjoys  thy  rays,  and  lives  within  thy  smile ! 


LINES, 

WITH  A   BUNCH  OF  AUTUMN   LEAVES  PRESENTED  TO   MRS. 
GENERAL   B A . 

BROWN  Autumn  heralds  its  approach  by  thee  ; 

Thy  glorious  tint  on  many  a  leaf  appears ; 

And   thoughts    come    stealing    o'er   our   hours  of 

glee, 

Too  deep. for  utterance,  yes,  too  sad  for  tears. 
Oh  may  our  souls,  as  Summer's  bloom  we  lose, 
Be  tinted  thus  with  heaven's  own  Autumn  hues  ! 


IMPROMPTU   LINES 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  PROFESSOR  SAMUEL  F.  B.  MORSE.    WRITTEN 
BY  REQUEST  ON  THE    MORNING  SUCCEEDING  HIS  DEATH. 

A  MIGHTY  mind  has  passed  from  earth 

To  mingle  with  the  glorious  throng 
Of  noble  ones  who  claim  their  birth 

In  this  our  land  of  fame  and  song. 
Our  Franklin,  who  the  lightning  drew ; 

Our  Fulton,  fair  Columbia's  pride, 
Will,  with  our  Morse,  their  youth  renew, 

And  view  their  triumphs  side  by  side  ! 

O  hearts  that  love  though  seas  divide ! 

O  Nations  wrapped  in  slavery's  gloom  ! 
No  more  the  dreary  ocean  tide 

Can  drown  your  throbs,  —  pronounce  your  doom! 
The  lightning  flash  that  erst  with  dread 

Inspired  each  heart,  at  last  appears 
To  flash  with  blessings  o'er  each  head,  — 

A  boon  from  Heaven,  to  calm  our  fears ! 


IMPROMPTU  LINES.  1 03 

Sleep  well !  oh,  casket  of  a  mind 

Too  mighty  for  the  earth  to  hold ! 
Sleep  well !     Thy  name  is  left  behind 

Written  in  characters  of  gold. 
And  when  the  last  great  trump  shall  sound, 

And  all  the  dead  in  Christ  arise, 
That  name  shall  on  the  roll   be  found 

Great  Victor  of  the  highest  prize  ! 


TO   A  FAIR   BUT   COLD   ONE. 


PLEASANT  in  the  morning, 

Pleasant  still  at  noon, 
Pleasant  in  the  evening 

'Neath  the  silvery  moon ; 
Pleasant  art  thou  ever 

To  my  dazzled  eyes, 
As  the  glittering  iceberg 

Under  sunny  skies  ! 
Such  thou  art,  and  still  must  be 
Thou  the  iceberg  art  to  me. 

ii. 

Knowest  thou,  oh,  maiden, 

How  I  worship  thee? 
Heedest  thou  my  bosom's 

Fond  intensity  ? 
No  !  thou  canst  not  know  it ! 

Thou  the  brooklet  art, 
Bearing  no  impression 

On  thy  placid  heart. 


TO  A   FAIR  BUT  COLD   ONE.  IO5 

Such  thou  art,  so  fair  to  see ; 
Thou  the  brooklet  art  to  me. 

in 

Gazing  in  the  streamlet 

I  behold  my  face  ; 
Mirrored  on  its  surface 

Every  line  I  trace  ; 
Lave  my  burning  forehead  ; 

But  the  ripple  there 
Scatters  all  my  semblance, 

Leaves  me  in  despair  ! 
Why  should  I  still  worship  thee  ? 
Thou  the  streamlet  art  to  me. 

IV. 

See  the  frosted  pictures 

On  my  window  pane,  — 
Trees  and  ferns  and  fountains 

Hold  their  icy  reign  ; 
Brilliant  forms  and  graceful, 

They  receive  my  breath, 
And  like  visions  vanish  — 

Fade  from  life  to  death  ! 
Such  art  thou,  oh,  fair  to  see ! 
Thou  the  frost-work  art  to  me. 


IO6  TO  A   FAIR   BUT  COLD   ONE. 

V. 
So  I  gaze  upon  thee 

As  a  distant  star 
Shining  cold  and  brilliant 

In  the  ether  far; 
And  thou  look'st  upon  me, 

As  the  world  will  soon, 
As  a  petted  infant 

Crying  for  the  moon  ! 
Bright  and  cold  thou  'It  ever  be  ; 
Ice,  brook,  frost,  star,  moon,  to  me  ! 


THE   NIGHT   AT   MONTEREY. 

IN  the  redoubt  at  Monterey, 

Where  many  a  shell  had  burst, 
Our  powder-blackened  fellows  lay, 

September  twenty-first. 
All  day  the  battle  fierce  had  raged 

Till  this  earthwork  we  won, 
And  hundreds  in  the  morn  engaged 

Lay  dead  at  set  of  sun. 

Night  had  closed  down,  and  now  the  rain 

In  "ceaseless  torrents  fell, 
While  from  the  Black  Fort  mortar  train 

Screeched  now  and  then  a  shell, 
Which,  circling  o'er  the  city's  length 

In  meteoric  sport, 
Would  plunge  at  last  and  spend  its  strength 

In  th'  ditches  of  our  fort. 


108  THE  NIGHT  AT  MONTEREY. 

Our  war-worn  boys  were  scattered  round. 

Some  on  the  ramparts  lay, 
While  'neath  the  guns,  on  the  wet  ground, 

Some  tired  ones  snored  away ; 
Others  more  wakeful  than  the  rest 

Oped  now  and  then  an  eye 
To  watch  the  shells,  which  from  the  west 

Trailed  out  across  the  sky. 

My  tour  on  post  at  two  expired, 

To  be  resumed  at  six, 
And  hungry,  wet,  and  very  tired, 

(A  soldier's  common  fix  !) 
Under  a  caisson,  on  the  ground, 

I  reached  a  muddy  bed, 
And  there  a  sleeping  comrade  found 

With  blanket-covered  head. 

I  nudged  him,  but  he  answered  not, 

Then  shared  his  blanket  warm  ; 
I  laid  awake,  and  wrapped  in  thought 

I  quite  forgot  the  storm. 
Poor  boy  !  how  soundly,  silently 

He  slept !     How  straight  each  limb  ! 
My  God  !  I  thought,  "  how  glad  I  'cl  be 

If  I  could  sleep  like  him  !  " 


THE  NIGHT  AT  MONTEREY.  IOQ 

Day  broke ;  I  heard  th'  unwelcome  shout, 

The  warning  word,  "  Relief  !  " 
I  seized  my  musket  and  crawled  out 

At  summons  of  my  chief. 
My  comrade  of  the  cold,  wet  bed 

No  sign  or  token  gave, 
But,  stretched  beneath   the  blanket,  laid 

As  quiet  as  the  grave. 

I  pull  the  blanket  down,  and  lo  ! 

A  ghastly,  bleeding  head, 
And  rigid,  whitened  features,  show 

Too  surely  he  is  dead  ! 
Upon  his  breast  a  paper  shred 

Torn  from  a  note-book  lay, 
On  which  in  pencil  rough  I  read 

These  words,  and  turned  away : 

"  W.  G.  Williams,  Engineers, 

Killed  in  the  final  charge  !  " 


Thus  had  I  lain  with  Death,  alone, 
Four  hours  in  rain  and  mud, 

Till,  startled  by  the  corporal's  tone, 
I  left  that  pool  of  blood  ! 


[10  THE   NIGHT  AT  MONTEREY. 

Long  years  have  flown  since  with  the  dead 

I  spent  that  fearful  night, 
And  I  have  inarched,  and  fought,  and  bled 

In  many  a  stirring  fight ; 
I  've  quailed  before  the  leaden  storm, 

But  not  with  half  such  dread 
As  when  unblanketing  the  form 

Of  Captain  Williams,  dead  ! 


LINES 

SUGGESTED    BY  A  CRAYON    PORTRAIT   OF   MY  YOUNGEST 
DAUGHTER. 

THY  pensive  eyes  look  down  on  me 

As  here  I  sit  alone, 
And  wonder  if  my  thoughts  of  thee 

Find  echo  in  thine  own  ; 
Or- if  our  spirits  ever  roam 

To  mingle  as  of  yore, 
Thine  from  thy  far-off  Texas  home, 

Mine  from  New  England's  shore. 

I  know  thou  often  think'st  of  me, 

And  of  thy  mother  dear, 
And  haply  o'er  thy  hours  of  glee 

Steals  now  and  then  a  tear  ; 
For  we  do  love  thee,  oh,  so  much  ! 

Yes,  more  than  words  can  speak, 
And  pray  that  grief  and  care  may  touch 

Full  lightly  on  thy  cheek. 


[  1 2  LINES. 

I  know  that  thou  hast  borne  a  cross 

To  sadden  thy  young  heart ; 
Thy  parents,  too,  have  known  such  loss,  — 

They  too  were  called  to  part 
With  one  who  for  a  period  brief 

Had  filled  our  home  with  joy, 
And  so  can  measure  all  thy  grief 

For  thy  dead  infant  boy  ! 

My  thoughts  go  back,  dear  daughter  mine, 

To  thy  bright  infant  days, 
When  I  so  loved  that  lisp  of  thine, 

And  all  thy  winning  ways. 
Still  further  on,  my  darling  girl, 

The  moving  picture  goes, 
And  thou  art  with  me  in   the  whirl 

Of  the  Blue  Mountain  snows  ! 

Next  at  the  distant  school,  — glad  hours 

Of  visits  dear  to  me, 
When  I  could  wander  'mong  the  flowers, 

And  talk  a  while  with  thee,  — 
Who  always  grieved  for  home  so  blest, 

And  mother's  smile,  dear  heart ! 
Then  laid  thy  head  upon  my  breast 

And  wept  that  we  must  part. 


LINES.  I  i  3 

Once  more,  thy  arms  around  my  neck, 

I  held  that  trembling  form, 
As  from  a  frail  bark's  creaking  deck 

We  watched  the  ocean  storm. 
Fierce  winds,  mad  waves,  a  fearful  night, — 

No  glimpse  of  moon  or  star,  — 
But,  thank  God !  with  the  morning  light 

We  crossed  the  Brazos  bar ! 

Last  scene  :  beneath  the  marriage  bell 

My  precious  daughter  stood 
With  one  whose  noble  heart  could  well 

Prize  thee,  the  pure  and  good. 
And  now  new  cares,  new  hopes  and  fears 

Thy  days  and  nights  must  fill ; 
But  still  I  know,  through  all  the  years, 

Thy  heart  is  with  us  still. 

What  though  thou  'rt  distant  from  my  sight, 

I  know  thou  'rt  sometimes  here, 
And  in  the  still  hours  of  the  night 

I  wake  and  feel  thee  near; 
And  though  thy  semblance  on   the  wall 

Seems  all  now  left  to  me, 
I  know  thy  spirit  heeds  the  call 

Whene'er  I  think  of  thee  ! 
8 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


MON-RENEWABU 

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